


Like Voices On A String

by captaineifersucht



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Bad Therapy, Blow Jobs, Cheesy Song Lyrics, Frederick Chilton is a radio DJ, Hand Jobs, Kissing, M/M, Near Death, Nervous Fumblings, One-sided Hannibal Lecter/Will Graham, Radio DJ AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-06
Updated: 2015-03-19
Packaged: 2018-02-28 08:23:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 32,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2725541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captaineifersucht/pseuds/captaineifersucht
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frederick Chilton is a radio DJ stuck with the least popular slot (midnight to 4 A.M. every Monday through Saturday!) on Baltimore’s local alternative/indie station. Will Graham is an FBI profiler with awful insomnia, who finds comfort in driving late at night to the soothing playlist that comes from 97.9 FM. He occasionally emails and texts the DJ on for those few hours, signing all contact as his latest hallucination--The Ravenstag.</p><p>Months into this relationship, on another sleepless night, Will decides to seek out more. He calls into the radio channel, all nervous energy as Frederick picks up. Will offers to bring him coffee, maybe a snack if he’s hungry. Frederick agrees, and Will thinks that he sounds more insecure than usual. </p><p>One cup of coffee turns into two, then the trip becomes a weekly occurrence, and doubles again. Will finds himself in the lobby of the radio tower as Frederick has a playlist running. Their chemistry is tangible, and Frederick wastes no time in convincing Will that they should be more than friends. Will lets himself dive headfirst into what seems to be the healthiest relationship he’s ever been in, only to find himself quickly backpedaling when the case he’s working on turns deadly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 97.9 The Chill

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hannibalsketches](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannibalsketches/gifts).



> Borne from late night headcanons with hannibalsketches & gif-sets of Raul Esparza recording his voice for an audiobook.
> 
> Soundtrack can be found [here](https://8tracks.com/lemonscientist/like-voices-on-a-string-soundtrack)
> 
> AND hannibalsketches, the light of my life, did a wonderful [fanart](http://hannibalsketches.tumblr.com/post/104534786427/a-really-sketchy-chilly-for-lemonscientist-who) for the fic as well!

The office was chilly, sending goosebumps up Frederick’s arms. He knew that the booth would only be colder. Whoever decided that it wasn’t worth turning the air conditioning on until August apparently thought it was still necessary as September rolled by and October reared her head. 

Frederick made a series of frustrated noises as he yanked a black pullover hoodie from under his desk, struggling to pull it over his head and adjust it to sit right over the plain white tee he’d worn into work. The hoodie was warm, the fabric broken in. Over the left breast 97.9 FM was emblazoned in white, partially obstructed by the hanging drawstring, uneven with its partner. He played with the fraying ends, attempting to straighten the lengths briefly. With another exasperated huff Frederick glanced at the digital clock above the doorway to his office and gathered up his laptop and the novel he’d been reading.

The hallway to the booths in the radio tower was narrow and littered with framed concert flyers, signed records, and a t-shirt from the first festival that the station had organized. He waved through a window to Matthew, a stoic personality from the AM station that they shared their floor with. 

Frederick had ten minutes until his segment on the station started, and Donald had already left the booth with a playlist running. His shift started at ten, but he never went on air until midnight, just when the viewership began to drop off. Frederick tried not to feel offended by the shit slot that he had been given, but it was hard when some of the other broadcasters had a loyal following and he rarely ever received responses to the songs he played or the stories he mentioned. 

Being so late at night, or early in the morning if you wanted to look at it that way, he often covered a wide variety of news topics and local music scene information. Baltimore wasn’t exactly the place to be for indie and alternative bands, but it was a big enough city to have a few gems. 

Frederick didn’t regret taking the job offer nearly a year ago, just that since he’d been on the air six out of seven days of the week he rarely had time to make a home for himself in Maryland. His sleep schedule wasn’t suited for making friends, and he was rarely asked to attend gigs at bars and organize giveaways like some of the other hosts were. 

There was really only one break to the monotony of his life, and that was the occasional e-mails he got from one listener. Frederick liked to think that this guy--even though he was jumping on the assumption of gender--was like him, stuck with a crappy shift at some place like a gas station or convenience store that let him listen to the radio. The first one would usually come around one-thirty or two in the morning, nearly halfway through Frederick’s segment. A compliment on his song choices for the evening, maybe some bitching about the weather, and a suggestion for a new band or song.

Always signed “Ravenstag” from a gmail address with the same name. Frederick didn’t prod for his friend’s name - because they had to be some kind of friends after seven months of this, nor did he ever respond by e-mail. He would reply into the mic, knowing that this person was listening, waiting somewhere.

Frederick settled into the comfortable chair, adjusting the lumbar support a bit lower and organizing a stack of papers that Don had left on the desk. He placed his laptop where they’d been scattered and booted it up while quickly dragging and dropping some songs into the playlist that he’d found earlier in the evening. Two minutes left until he had to announce his arrival into the booth to the one hundred or so listeners that remained tuned in. 

The set up in the station was impressive, two desktop monitors in the booth and full studio equipment. Frederick remembered the tour he’d been given in his first week, staring in awe of the mixers and the large variety of programs available on the computers. There were four microphones arranged around the desk, with a boom above them if needed and stools stacked up in the corner, waiting for guests. He’d been on prime time in New Mexico, a small Spanish station that he’d found little joy in hosting. Moving to Baltimore had been a step up, even if he’d traded his limited popularity in the village he’d started in. 

Frederick slipped the heavy headphones over his ears and flipped the switch to his mic, easing into the words with a practiced rhythm. “ Good morning, Chesapeake Bay Area, this is Frederick Chilton in on 97.9 The Chill, your local alternative station. Tonight on Unorthodox Methods I’ll be playing new music from some local unsigned bands, giving away a few CDs, and keeping you entertained in the early hours. After the break we’ll be back with some Beck, Silversun Pickups, and The Avett Brothers.”

Nimble fingers switched off the microphone, pulled the jack of the headphones out from the input on the stereo and then tugged them so the thick plastic band rested against the back of his neck. Frederick was never a fan of tuning the entire world out, and allowed the quiet thrum of strings and the beat of a bass drum to resound throughout the booth as he opened up a few windows on the desktop.

With an hour of music set to play amidst various commercials, two breaks for news interjections and giveaways, Frederick curled up into the cushioned chair, legs sprawling over one arm. He had his novel, the latest murder mystery that his mom had recommended, open upon his thighs and was idly reading the plot. It wasn’t exactly the most gripping storyline, but he didn’t have much else to do. It was only ten past midnight, which meant that Ravenstag wouldn’t e-mail him for at least another hour. Frederick wished their conversations started earlier in his shift, that he had more time to talk with his mysterious friend.

When the melodic _ping_ of the e-mail program momentarily dulled the music, Frederick didn’t give the monitor a glance--junk mail didn’t sleep either. However, he’d really underestimated the dull quality of the novel and after rereading the same sentence ten times, he swiveled to the desktop, hoping to clean up his inbox and do some mindless internet searches. Maybe he’d find a factoid to share with no one over the air waves.

The glaring light of the monitor switched from dim to glowing as Frederick nudged the mouse. He glanced at the progress of his playlist before returning to the window with his inbox. At the first e-mail, he did a double take at the time. It was 12:21am, and the sender was his favorite listener. _Hey_ , the subject title read. Frederick hovered the pointer over it, unsure of his own hesitance. He had wished for this exact situation not even ten minutes ago. But why exactly had his friend chosen to e-mail him nearly an hour early? 

He shook his head and loaded the page. What else was there for him to do?

_Frederick,_

_First song was great as always. Its getting colder, looks like rain tonight. Have you gotten a chance to listen to that As Cities Burn album yet?_

_Hopefully you're busier than I am._

Ravenstag

Frederick dragged his pointer along the words, highlighting and unhighlighting them repetitively. He had listened to the album after his friend sent him a link to it on YouTube two nights ago. 

Normally, Frederick responded to the e-mails on air. He had a feeling that the mystery listener liked to hear his reply, and there wasn’t much else he had to cover during his allotted hours anyways. Tonight, however, with the announcement of a few shows and leftover prizes from earlier segments to give away, there wasn't any room in the program for a break. So he began to type instead. 

He hesitated on the greeting. They had been talking for months, and it just seemed wrong to refer to this friend by a pseudonym during a private correspondence. 

**Ravenstag,**

**Just so you know, I can't put a break in anytime soon. But I had to say, that album was fantastic. Hopefully the studio will let me get a hold of _Errand Rum_ , or at least _Into The Sea_ to play.**

**We probably should've covered this by now, but what's your real name? I won't use it on air if that makes you uncomfortable.**

**Frederick**

The mouse hovered over the Send button just as Frederick’s finger hovered over the mouse. All the easy confidence that he exuded on air was lost when confronted with making their conversation more intimate, removing the possibility of others tuning in. There was no audience. Frederick didn’t need an audience for this friendship.

He quickly sent the reply and swiveled his chair away from the monitor, planting his feet on the ground when he faced the opposite wall. 

There was no reason why he should be nervous about making actual friends in this city. It was hard, with his shifts, but if his companion was up at the same time, that wouldn’t be an issue. The other obviously wasn’t terribly busy at this time of night, and always initiated these conversations. He was shy in his messages, never revealing too much, always polite about any suggestions. Frederick pictured blushing cheeks, fingers that froze over keys, just as his had. Maybe they could grab food at some greasy spoon diner at five in the morning? 

When the tattered paperback novel fell from his lap, Frederick shook out of his reverie. It was entirely possible that he was not only starved for companionship, but human contact. Calling his mother once a week and exchanging cordial words with his coworkers when changing out of the studio wasn’t cutting it. He was worried that after eleven months of being isolated on a different sleep schedule, his communication skills had deteriorated.

He stood and took a lap of the hallway. The break room was halfway in between the AM and FM booths, and Frederick stopped inside for another cup of coffee. Like usual, there was none brewed, so he filled the water reservoir and switched on the perculator, rummaging through the fridge for a snack in the mean time. He pulled out an applesauce cup and ripped open the top. Sweet, sticky mush splattered across his bottom lip and chin just as the alarm on his phone went off. 

“ Fuck,” Frederick muttered into the applesauce, slurping it as he headed back to his booth. He had to record a segway into the commercial break after giving away a CD. 

As he sat down, Frederick didn’t miss the boldened subject line in his inbox. _**Hey**_. 

He shoved the headphones over his ears and flipped the switch to put him on air. “ That last one was from Silversun Pickups’ new album, _Neck of the Woods_ , released last week. I’ve got a few more copies sitting by me here to hand out. You guys wanna call into us at The Chill and the eighth caller is going to get this album, and be entered to win a trip to Las Vegas with three friends. Sponsored by Miller High Life. I’ll announce our winner after this break.”

One by one, the lines slowly lit up on the phone board. Frederick momentarily wondered how quickly these prizes were given away at eight in the morning, or when people were getting off work at five. After a few minutes, the eighth light came on and Frederick could pick up without having to say, “ This is The Chill, sorry you’re not the eighth caller. Have a great night, man,” or something to that effect. 

He recorded the conversation to play when the break ended.

“ Hey, this is The Chill, who am I talking to?”

“Randall,” a raspy, baritone voice came through the line. “ From Whitehall.”

“ Well, Randall from Whitehall, you’re our eighth caller!” a momentary pause as he thanked Frederick. “ You’ve got yourself that new album from Silversun Pickups and your name is in the drawing for a trip to Vegas. Congrats!”

Frederick took the rest of the conversation off the air as he explained where and when he could come pick up the album and the regulations for the giveaway. They shared a drawing pool with quite a few other radio stations, and rarely did anyone get picked when entered from their station. That, Frederick didn’t state.

With his excitement for the next hour under wraps, Frederick turned back to the computer monitor. He opened up the reply from Ravenstag. Soon, he’d have another name to call his correspondent by.

_Frederick,-_

The phone rang once more. Typically after airing the winner's response, he never got additional calls. There was never much clamouring for the prizes he gave out, but Frederick supposed it was an honest mistake. He picked up the receiver, ready to let down the caller gently.

“ Hey, this is Frederick with The Chill, sorry, but we’ve already had the eighth--”

“ It’s Will,” a small voice interrupted. Frederick paused. He didn’t know any Will’s. There was a slight crackle of static from the other line, the man was clearing his throat. “ Uhm, you didn’t get my e-mail then?” The man, Will, laughed softly. Frederick was struck by how attracted he was to this voice. Shy and hesitant, but sure of himself. His tone was soft in timbre, with an underlying twang that brought gumbo and crawdads to mind, memories of humid summer nights as a child, hands sticky from a dripping popsicle floating before his eyes. A smile had worked itself upon his face. He forced himself to speak.

“ E-mail? I’m sorry, I really don’t-,” but this time Frederick cut himself off. He glanced back to the reply from his faithful listener and caught 'Will' written in the body of text, and then again at the bottom of the message. “Oh--God! Ravenstag? I mean, Will.” Frederick definitely did not feel like a radio personality, with random words falling uncontrollably from his mouth. “ I’m sorry. I was giving away that last prize and then you called and, well no, I haven’t read the e-mail yet.”

Will had remained silent throughout Frederick’s awkward fumblings. There was a few, deep breaths from the other side of the line. It seemed that Will really was shy. “ That’s all right, I just was out driving and was wondering if you’d like a cup of coffee. Or something to eat. I know this is out of the blue and we haven’t even really talked before, I’m sorry, was this a bad idea?” 

It seemed that Frederick wasn’t the only one who had a problem with damming his thoughts from flowing straight out of his mouth. The smile had returned.

“ No, no, Will. I’m glad that you’ve called, glad that I know your name now too.” Frederick pushed slightly away from the desk, cradling the phone in between his jaw and shoulder. He began to chew absentmindedly on the cap of a pen. “ Uhm, do you know where the station is? I would love a cup of coffee, the stuff we’ve got here is so weak. I’ll pay you back.” 

He didn’t mention what he really was thankful for--the company.

“ You don’t have to pay me back,” Will insisted quickly. “ I’ll, uhm, see you in fifteen minutes then? Should I call when I get there?”

Frederick paused. Fifteen minutes, and he’d get to meet his friend. He’d just heard Will’s voice for the first time and now they’d be drinking coffee together. He felt giddy. 

Will cleared his throat again. Frederick didn’t know how long he’d been silent. “ Yeah, yeah. Call me and I’ll come down to let you in, okay? Drive safe.”

A noise of affirmation returned Frederick’s well wishes. “ Okay, see you.” The line went dead.

He tried not to glance at the clock too often, preoccupied himself with recording a reintroduction to the playlist and another outro for a commercial break. With the clips set in place, Frederick would have nearly an hour and a half before he had to wander back up to the booth. Only ten minutes had passed and he tried to imagine what Will would look like. He was grasping at straws, a vague image of a slender, attractive man in his late thirties hazing through his vision.

The phone rang.


	2. Coffee In The Lobby

Will had no idea what had possessed him to make the phone call after e-mailing Frederick. He was sitting in a gas station parking lot, tapping out his usual reply on his phone, but this time he’d offered coffee. And then he got nervous for being so forward when his messages were normally suggestions of songs, vague compliments, and boring banter about local news. So naturally, Will cut out the wait that would come with the reply to his e-mail. He called.

When the radio personality had picked up the phone, he felt his throat dry up. The car suddenly seemed to be stifling, the air thick even when the cool, crisp autumn breeze flowed through his windows. He stammered out replies, re-offered a cup of coffee, and hung up quickly. What had he done?

It was fifteen till one. Will had been at Quantico until midnight, shuffling evidence over and over, hoping that it would spur some connection in his mind. None came. Jack wouldn’t be happy with his best profiler running on fumes and caffeine.

But when he went home, fed and watered the dogs, sleep wouldn’t come. Will had restlessly shifted on his bed for five minutes, shook his head at the futility, and left home in favor of driving on country roads.

Will enjoyed the thrum of music along the frame of his car, the quiet of the forest in between beats and the slow hum of the engine as his only companion. That was, well, except for Frederick. 

The Ripper had resurfaced five months previously, leaving Will with a bout of insomnia he just wasn’t able to shake. Within weeks he’d grown bored of lazing about the house. There was no satisfaction in staring at the ceiling, no relief from showers at three in the morning and downing cup after cup of coffee. One night, frustrated beyond belief, he got in the car and just drove away.

At this time of night, his usual radio station turned into a soothing mixture of upbeat tunes and a silky voice. When the host, Frederick, had mentioned his loneliness, Will was quick to take up the offer. He, too, was tired of being isolated. He was tired of only interacting with people who wanted to talk about The Chesapeake Ripper, colleagues that only desired to analyze him or pry information from the recesses of his mind. 

He had created a new e-mail account, inspired by the stag that haunted his dreams and invaded his mind by day, and signed all his messages with the same pseudonym. Will was sure that somehow, Freddie Lounds would twist his interest in night-time radio into something gruesome, warping his words and twisting his enthusiasm. 

Frederick had responded on air the first time, and Will kept sending replies. 

That was four months ago. Now, Frederick knew his name, and expected Will at his place of employment in quarter of an hour. It was like any small move that Will made to further his contact with the radio DJ spiralled out of control and into something over the top. How had one stray message turned into a near daily correspondence? An e-mail offer into a phone call? 

Will was now inside of the gas station. He hastily grabbed two 24 oz coffee cups and began to fill one with the light roast. The card near the pot said that it had been brewed ten minutes ago. The clerk behind the counter was nursing a thermos and nodded at Will’s selection. Obviously, Will wasn’t the only one who preferred more caffeine per fluid ounces. He decided to get Frederick the same brew, it was the freshest on the counter.

After sliding the thin styrofoam cups into cardboard sleeves, Will walked to pay at the counter. He stopped halfway on his way to the pimple-faced kid in his early twenties. Will had offered snacks, too. What would Frederick even want? His guess on the coffee was as good as whatever selection he made in the chip aisle, so Will just grabbed what looked good to him.

He slid his card across a laminated advertisement for a rewards card and shoved the snack packs of Chex Mix and Cheetos into his coat pockets. Will thanked the clerk and left, back into the cold, relentless wind. He watched as the steam rose through the small holes on the lids and wound away in the darkness. 

Will drove in silence for the first ten minutes, too afraid to turn on the radio. It wasn't necessary for him to listen to the station in order to hear Frederick's voice any longer.

He followed the directions on his phone to the studio. The lights in the lobby were dimmed when he pulled into a visitor parking spot. He fumbled to redial the last number he’d called.

“ Hey, um--Frederick?” Will opened the car door and placed one cup on the hood of the car as he removed the second and the snacks he’d thrown into the passenger seat. He held the phone precariously between his shoulder and jaw, juggling cups and food as he walked up to the door. There was an elevator across the darkened, open space, its closed doors shining under a single light. 

Will knew what Frederick looked like. He had seen his picture on the radio station's website shortly after their correspondence became regular.

That is, Will had been extremely curious if the man was as beautiful as his voice. Frederick had lived up to expectations.

Now, Will was frozen in place in front of the locked building, not by the cold, but by his anticipation. Frederick would walk out of those elevator doors and his dark hair would probably shine as it had in his picture online. In the photo, there were dimples along his tanned cheeks, the faintest notion of a blush deep in his skin. The smile that Frederick had flashed at the camera reached his eyes. Will desperately wanted to see genuine happiness conveyed in them tonight. He wanted so badly to be welcome company, not a hollow vessel used only for analysis of brutality.

“--on my way down, okay?” Frederick had been speaking and Will had missed it. He muttered his thanks and dropped the phone down his front so that it slid into his too-full hands. His hips rocked as he shifted, trying to warm himself. How was it getting colder?

Will’s movements stopped abruptly when he saw the elevator doors open. Frederick popped out from between them, his strides purposeful. Will tried to take his image in, the way his hair bounced with each step, the clean facial hair that framed his jaw deliciously, the tattered hoodie that was a bit too big, ending past his hips. He was the personification of casual grace, wrist twisting delicately to unlock the door. 

Frederick smiled at him through the glass, bringing his free hand up for a little wave. Will felt a blazing heat rise in his cheeks that refused to spread elsewhere. He ducked his head when the door opened, scurried inside under the guidance of a steady hand.

And sure, Will had to acknowledge that his attraction to Frederick was almost purely physical, made so much sweeter by the man’s lack of affiliation with law enforcement. But it was nice to know that there was a mutual affection here. The smile hadn’t faded from the other man as Will was led to a sofa across the lobby. Frederick hopped behind a black granite counter that sat at the back, presumably housing a secretary during normal hours. He flipped a few switches and the overhead lights flickered to life. Will squinted behind his glasses, rubbing at his stubble nervously.

Now that he was here, he was beginning to doubt himself. Will put the coffees carefully down on the table beside the sofa, the chip bags toppling on the surface shortly after. Frederick was closing the distance between them, sitting near Will with a sense of comfortable familiarity. They had talked for months, but this was the first time they were meeting. Will was a bit shocked.

“ I, well, I forgot to ask what kind of coffee you like, so I got you the light roast. It was fresh.” Will took a sip from his own cup, cooled from scalding by the weather. “ Same with the chips, I’m sorry, I should’ve called again.” His blush wasn’t fading.

Frederick knocked a knee against Will’s as he laughed. The sound was tinkling, loosening some sort of warm, liquified feeling in the pit of Will’s gut. He felt light headed.

How long had it been since he’d interacted with another human being?

" You don't have to apologize Will," Frederick said as he brought the coffee to his lips. Will savored the way the DJ's eyes momentarily fluttered shut. " That is... as long as you let me eat all the rye chips out of the chex mix."

Will opened his mouth to speak, but shut it again. He nudged the bag of chex mix towards Frederick with a small smile, but jolted when his own coffee spilled onto the back of his hand.

The liquid wasn't burning, but Will wasn't able to stop the yelp that burst forth from his lips. He pulled his injured hand back from the cup by reflex, using the other to stabilize the teetering cup from completely emptying itself onto the table. Frederick reached out to touch his arm, the smile vanished, replaced by genuine concern. Will scooted away from it.

" I, god, I'm so fucking sorry," Will started, shaking his head all the while. Frederick was still moving towards him, attention focused on the red welt that was emerging on the thin skin, ignoring the dark liquid pooling across the table entirely. " Please, lemme clean this--"

Frederick stayed his wrist. Will's entire body froze. He looked up from beneath his curled bangs, wide, blue eyes focused on the face that had somehow moved even closer. " I..." he began again, but lost his voice.

" You're hurt," Frederick stated plainly. The easygoing tone he'd had when joking about snack food immediately ceased. His lips were twisted in a frown, giving away his concern. " Listen, there's a first aid kit upstairs in the break room. Why don't you come up with me?"

Will hesitated. Frederick's hand was still on the wrist of his good hand, fingertips curled around his racing pulse. He nodded jerkily by way of agreement. 

The DJ stood and Will followed. Frederick was speaking to him in a low voice but Will could only register his tone, not the words and their meaning. 

They stood side by side in the elevator. Will felt the shock wear off, his hand was throbbing. He looked over at Frederick. " We left the coffee downstairs, " he realized aloud. The elevator pinged softly and Frederick led him out of it, down a narrow hallway.

The room they entered was plain. On the far wall a generic countertop stretched under a set of cabinets. A refrigerator was situated in the corner, magnets and white littering its face. There was a microwave splattered with food remnants atop the countertop. Frederick was rummaging through one of the cabinets. Will sat at one of two circular folding tables, in a wooden chair that shifted uneasily under his weight. 

" I'll go back down and get it after I clean this up, okay?" Frederick had returned to Will's side with a transparent container. It spilled half of its contents when he opened the lid.

There was a moment of shuffling before Frederick pulled out a few items. The first was an antiseptic. Will didn't flinch at the enzymes as they bubbled along his exposed flesh.

" So what do you do that has you up this late at night?"

Now, Will winced. It was meant to be conversational but the question was dangerous. He wanted to be honest with Frederick, but he didn't want to have this discussion. Will didn't want to have the nature of their relationship change, to trade the easy talk and banter for curious inquiries and barely disguised fear. Nobody wanted Will after they knew his brain.

" Law enforcement, " he supplied vaguely.

Frederick only nodded, which made Will feel marginally better. The other man was focused on his hand, tearing open a packet of burn cream and spreading it evenly across the injury. It was about an inch squared, with unsymmetrical, circular edges. Frederick seemed to be debating between the use of gauze and tape or a larger bandage. 

" I think the gauze would allow for better mobility on the hand, what do you think?" Frederick looked up from Will's hand. His eyes were an interesting shade of green, glinting in the bright artificial light and reflecting Will's face. He could only nod.

Will watched Frederick arrange the cloth across his skin. It stuck to the burn cream. He wrapped the tape through the joint of Will's thumb and forefinger a few times, stabilizing the arrangement with a final loop about his wrist. When Frederick's hands finally left his skin, Will found his voice again. " I am _so_ sorry, Frederi--"

" Don't be," the other said dismissively from where he washed his hands at the sink. " Do you want to come back down with me for the coffee? Or I can bring it up here?" 

Will hardly trusted himself to be alone. He'd make even more a fool of himself. They took the elevator back down to the lobby.

He opened his mouth to speak, to apologize again and try and sneak out without causing further damage. Will could easily go back to email correspondence. They could pretend this horrible attempt at furthering their relationship had never happened. Will would never make the mistake of pursuing what he couldn't have again--it was always too good to be true.

But Frederick's hand had clapped his shoulder before he sat. Will stared at the DJ, unable to repress a smile at the way he sank into the sofa comfortably. Frederick wasn't put off. Will sat beside him.

" Now I _really_ get all the rye chips," Frederick laughed. He snatched the abandoned bag from the table, mopping up the spilled coffee with a napkin in the same movement. Will was still smiling. He nodded dumbly and fumbled for the cheetos package. Frederick cocked his head to the side as he took a long drink of his coffee.

" I'm sorry this has gone so wrong." Will had waited until Frederick had his mouth full to speak. He felt that this wasn't something to be dismissed. " I wanted to make a good impression. I don't have friends outside of work, really, and I like talking to you. I wanted to be better friends, but here we've just met and already I fucked up."

Frederick's swallow was audible. Will was afraid he'd spoken too quickly in his embarrassment. He drank his coffee to stem the flow of words that threatened to flood his mouth again.

Will was expectant. He was afraid. Frederick only smiled at him again.

" You really don't have to apologize at all. I'm grateful that you took the time to come over and brought all this with you! If anything, I'm sorry you got hurt." Frederick paused, took another drink. Will didn't know how someone could make drinking gas station coffee attractive, but Frederick had managed it. The bob of his Adam's apple was slow, tempting. There was relief pooling in his stomach even as he stared at the man across from him, captivated. Frederick didn't want him to leave. He hadn't screwed everything up; at least, not yet. 

A hand settled on his shoulder and Will didn't flinch away this time. The curiosity he held for Frederick was reflected back at him. For what seemed like the first time in forever, he was involving himself in a mutual relationship. The swimming nervousness in his gut had finally halted. Will made himself look the other man in the eyes.

" Thanks," he said simply. Frederick looked pleased.

They settled again, opening small bags and eating. Will was down to the dregs of his drink when Frederick spoke. He couldn't help but notice the salty residue on the other man's fingertips. " You know, Will, I don't really have a lot of friends either. My shifts aren't conducive to socializing." 

Will nodded solemnly. " I work long hours, and don't really want to see my co-workers after I leave." He also didn't want to talk about work. Will was desperate for a subject change. " I have a few dogs, they're good for company."

And okay, “a few” was an understatement, but Will was thrilled that Frederick latched onto the topic. They talked about the old mutt that Frederick grew up with, how sad it was that there were so many strays, and Winston--the latest addition to Will's family. Will kicked himself internally for not thinking of this earlier, people nearly always loved talking about animals, particularly their own pets. The conversation came easy and Will wasn’t stumbling over words or hesitating. Having the dogs was one of his better qualities. He wasn’t afraid to exploit it.

Frederick was shamelessly licking his fingers clean when a small, insistent beeping sounded from nearby. Will was thankful for the distraction. He looked about for the source of the noise, away from Frederick's pink tongue and wet lips. 

" Fuck, sorry!" Frederick fumbled at the front pocket of his pullover. Eventually a phone clattered from its depths, the shrill tone still filling the space between them. Will smiled. It was nice to know that he wasn't the only clumsy one, and Frederick made being uncoordinated cute, like everything else he did. The alarm was silenced and Frederick looked back at Will, cheeks red. " I have to, um, get going, sadly. I only set up enough recordings for an hour and a half...that was my ten minute warning."

Will's expression shifted minutely. He didn't feel tired, not at all. But Frederick was at work, and surely this wouldn't be the only time they would meet in person. The disappointment must have shown on his face. 

" Maybe texting would be more convenient in the future? I'll give you my number." And this was so unexpected that Will, too, dropped his phone in his anxiousness. 

They left with awkward goodbyes after an exchange of phone numbers. Will didn’t want to return home and he thought that maybe, from the way he hesitated, Frederick didn’t want to go back into his booth. 

Will paused when walking away. When he turned to look back, Frederick waved from where he stood waiting at the elevator. The lock clicked on the doors to the lobby and Will had no choice but to force himself back into his car.

On his ride home, Will felt like his heart was in his throat. He had Frederick’s phone number. There was a person outside of the FBI who wanted to spend time with him, not rent him out as some instrument. Frederick had implied that they were friends, and Will would have to use all of his self control to refrain from calling the radio DJ the very next day.


	3. Time And Change

Will did not have to wait. 

As he pulled onto the interstate, a familiar tune filled his car. He had missed the introduction that Frederick had returned to record, the first few words sung out, but the meaning wasn’t lost.

_Yours is the first face that I saw, I think I was blind before I met you._

His heart clenched painfully, involuntary smile stretching muscles long unused. Unless this had been a planned song, which Will thought unlikely, it was as much of an outlet of unspoken words as Will speaking softly to his dogs while going about his nightly routine. He very well couldn’t confide in his co-workers, or worse, Hannibal. The dogs wouldn’t tell, couldn’t spoil this for him. Frederick was, and had been, his best kept secret. He would remain untainted by his work and those that involved themselves within it.

The interstate was desolate. Will cracked his windows, letting the cool air seep into the car to soothe the heated flush that the song had aroused in him. The second verse had begun, it’s effects presumably unintended.

_And you said, "This is the first day of my life. I'm glad I didn't die before I met you. But now I don't care I could go anywhere with you, and I'd probably be happy."_

And really, it was stupid how quickly every memory rushed to the surface of his mind. Driving had cleared his head of murder and gore, made it a blank canvas for the past to stain. Will had been attacked during his time on the force in New Orleans, as actual law enforcement. Now he chased at the heels of serial killers, following in death’s wake and replaying its manifestation again and again. His behavior was reckless, mind a fractured egg waiting to crack entirely. Jack entrusted Hannibal to cradle his fragile psyche, but Will knew better.

He had found Frederick, tethered far away from the dock that Will had secured his ship to. Frederick didn’t look at the world through a lens of horror. He was a safe space, something that Will desperately needed. 

Jack had noted how much more “stable”, how “grounded”, Will had seemed since he had started having his conversations with Hannibal. But it had been his regular contact with Frederick, with a genuine human being, that had eased the load on his shoulders. He would eventually sleep, for at least a few hours, after sending e-mails to Frederick and listening to playlists that kept violent thoughts from the forefront of his mind. Will knew what had changed in his life, the variable that had spurred the desired result. It was his secret.

Will wouldn’t allow this opportunity for solidifying his place in the world outside of the Behavioral Sciences Unit to slip between his fingers.

_Besides maybe this time is different, I mean I really think you like me._

\---

Frederick spent the last hour or so of his shift reconstructing the playlists to include more sentimental songs. He managed to fit _First Day Of My Life_ into the first set, in hopes that Will had heard it. It was entirely intentional, an invitation for further conversation, an encouraging nudge to text or call him in the near future.

His expectations of Will had been exceeded. Frederick had expected his new friend to be shy--they’d been corresponding solely by e-mail for months. He hadn’t even considered preparing himself for Will’s physical appearance. Their relationship was that of companions, stuck up late at night for work or by biology. He hadn’t contemplated the idea of Will as an option, hadn’t even known his gender until that very evening.

He’d been caught off-guard, confident strides on the familiar path through the lobby momentarily stunted by what waited for him behind the glass.

Will was slight, like he only fed himself when absolutely necessary. He wore a worn, olive, canvas jacket over a rumpled plaid button down. His khakis were fraying at the edges, dark work boots scuffed. He was trying to shrink into his clothing.

Frederick hastily unlocked the door, trying to steady the key into the lock while still glancing over Will’s features. The wind was whipping his dark brown curls into his face, across the bridge of his cheap, unclean glasses. He helped Will with the cups of coffee, smiling and talking in a jittery manner because truly, Frederick was shocked that he hadn’t considered something beyond friendship with Will. 

He turned on the lights and then when they settled down together, he’d taken in the last of the other man’s appearance. Deep blue eyes, hidden not only by the glare of lenses, but carefully concealing any emotion. There were bags under them, betraying the body’s exhaustion before Will yawned moments later. Frederick was struck by how he wished to destroy the obvious walls that Will had built around himself, the clouding of his eyes that could be cleared. He wanted to brighten the other man’s life, to reveal color and clarity.

That had been his first exposure to Will, and Frederick wasn’t ashamed of the brazen touches he’d managed throughout the early morning. He wasn’t afraid to play the provocative song in hopes of stirring shy Will into action.

The shift went by much quicker with plans on his mind. He was relatively busy, and eager to head to the diner after getting off. Tonight was something worth celebrating.

\---

“ More coffee?” 

Frederick glanced up from where he’d been staring at the screen of his phone. The waitress held the pot out over his cup. He covered the top with his hand, shaking his head. “ You know I’ve drank half of that pot myself, Natalie. I have to sleep sometime this morning.”

She smiled sweetly at him, glancing back at the kitchen where his plate would be coming out in a few seconds. He’d gotten a waffle and two eggs, breakfast for dinner. Natalie brought over a container of warm syrup and a can of aerosol whipped cream. He smiled distractedly at her.

“ What’s bugging you? You’ve normally got more to say, less to do on your phone.” There was only a couple of truckers in the diner besides Frederick. He always tipped her well when he made his weekly trip in. She was in her mid thirties with four adopted children--all boys-- that always came up in conversation. Frederick didn’t mind, he simply enjoyed the human contact.

Now, he hadn’t the slightest clue on how to respond to the latest interaction he’d had from Will--one that he had spurred on.

_I didn’t know you liked Bright Eyes._

And Frederick didn’t know what to say. Was this a legitimate inquiry on his music taste, or a notification that Will had received his message over the radio waves, translated his desire from lyrics?

“ Well, it’s a guy,” he started, trailing off. Natalie’s eyes brightened and she practically skipped when his plate came out. 

He cut his waffles with knife and fork, drizzled syrup over the pieces and sprayed some whipped cream in the free corner of his plate as she began to speak quickly. Her tone was hushed, so as not to attract the attention of the truckers in the corner. “ What’s he like? What’s his name? How do you know him? Frederick, this is great!”

A blush crept up his face as he took a few bites of his dinner. The waffles were light and fluffy, with a sweet edge to them. The third shift cook had once explained how he had more time to make a decent batter, separating the egg yolks and whites and beating them in at different times. Frederick hadn’t understood the entire process, but he was thankful for the delicious product. He washed down his bite with more coffee.

“ Uhm, his name is Will. He’s the one who used to email me all the time.” She nodded emphatically. He looked up from his plate helplessly. “ He brought me coffee this morning. He’s, well...he’s really cute.”

Natalie failed to stifle a squeal, her shoes clicking on the grimy tile as she shifted back and forth excitedly. Frederick grinned. Her enthusiasm made his emotions seem more rational. He gushed about how soft Will’s unkempt curls looked, how much he wanted to see those guarded eyes unencumbered by glasses. 

\---

Frederick returned home by six. His apartment was a cramped one bedroom on the fifth floor of a high rise. The deadbolt resisted his attempt to lock it and the heater clanked noisily when he turned it on the lowest setting. He kicked off his shoes and sunk heavily into bed, fully clothed. His phone, nestled into the back pocket of his jeans, dug into his hip. Frederick pulled it free, unlocked the screen, and stared at the message that he'd yet to reply to. 

The brightly lit screen shone against his tired retinas. He breathed out a sigh and began to type.

_**Want to come by the tower again next week? Sounds like you and I could get to know each other more.** _

It wasn't seductive. It was straightforward. Frederick wanted more, but he could settle for companionship, if that was his only option. He sent the reply, turned off the display on his phone, and rolled over to sleep.

\---

The hours crawled by.

When Frederick woke, his phone was periodically glowing in the late afternoon light. Dust particles danced in front of his blurred vision. He blinked slowly, rubbing sleep from his eyes and yawning with cottonmouth. The artificial light on his phone continued to brighten and dim in a lazy pattern. He clumsily brought the screen into view. Two texts.

Will wanted to see him again-- _of course_ \--and Frederick could practically hear his voice, earnest as it had been when he apologized over and over again mere hours ago. The thought made Frederick smile.

The second text was asking what his favorite kind of doughnut was. Frederick laughed aloud and rushed to reply with a joke about Will being in law enforcement and eating doughnuts. He followed up by expressing his love for powdered ones with raspberry filling. 

As he showered, Frederick realized that his still half asleep brain probably hadn't been the best judge of humor. He worried about possibly offending Will as he hurried to clean himself. The stray thought quickly turned into a large concern. What if he'd ruined his chances by joking about an obvious sore spot for Will? It was clear that he didn't want to discuss work from the vague answer to his question and not so subtle change of subject. Why had Frederick thought it a good idea to bring it up again? 

By the time Frederick was dry enough to pick up his phone, Will had replied. He groaned in exasperation, apprehensive about opening the text at all. His fingers blindly swiped open the message. It was a minute before Frederick could bring himself to look.

_I’m not a cop anymore, Frederick._   
_I lost fifteen pounds after I left. Still love doughnuts._

Relief washed over him. There wasn’t anything to worry about. He needed to stop thinking that Will was going to ignore him. His desire to be accepted by everyone was tiring. Frederick was sure that his irrational fear of being left behind and considered as sub-par became even more ridiculous in the context of their friendship. Will seemed to want this just as much as he did.

With his anxiety quelled, Frederick took a second glance at the messages to formulate a reply. 

Frederick tried not to read too much into the insight about Will’s past. He wanted their knowledge of one another to come about organically and this felt like he was peeping in on something. As if somehow, Will had let this slip and didn’t mean to tell him.

He worked to swallow his guilt. Will was sharing himself, bit by bit. Frederick wasn't intruding or forcing anything. This was mutual.

\---

Their conversations got easier.

They were sporadic. Frederick would send quick texts in between his errands. It was a frustrating endeavor. He would receive messages, contemplate his reply for too long, write a mere sentence, and then continually check his phone until the next reply came. Pieces of his past slipped from his memories, through his thumbs, to Will. Frederick told about where he grew up, how he was starting to miss the dry heat of the desert now that the cold winds blew, threatening freezing rain and snow as the dead leaves tumbled down. Of course, the sentiments were expressed in fewer words.

Over the week, Will called three times while Frederick was at work. The calls were short, but sweet. He could’ve sworn that Will knew exactly when he was most bored, idly spinning around in his chair. It was on those nights that Frederick considered asking Will to visit sooner. Their texts were teasings of conversations that inevitably died when either man got too busy. When Will got off work, or Frederick woke up, the subject would change and the cycle would start again. They were living on different sleeping schedules- well, Frederick was. It seemed as if Will never slept. His apologies were usually stemmed from spending time on a case and Frederick began to suspect that Will was rather important in his field. 

It was the afternoon before Will was supposed to show up. Frederick tried to slow his responses to the other man’s texts, not wanting to seem too eager. If he thought that the week had lasted for a lifetime, the few hours that separated him from doughnuts with Will were an eternity. 

He had spent far too long deciding his outfit that morning. The dark jeans, or his more worn in, lighter ones? Sneakers or boots? Hoodie over a v-neck or a sweater? In the end, he settled for a burgundy sweater, old enough to stretch a bit around his shoulders and hang below his waist atop a heather grey t-shirt. Boots, because Will seemed to be rough around the edges, and the dark wash boot-cut jeans. Frederick was contemplating how his mood, the fall weather, the playlist he’d set for the evening, and his outfit would interact when it occurred to him that perhaps Will didn’t feel the same chemistry that he did.

Sure, Will seemed thrilled about their friendship. It sounded like he was lonely at work, but that didn’t mean that he was _into_ Frederick. 

Even as he drove to the radio station, doubt crept through the confidence that Frederick had built up throughout the week. He had felt so sure that their conversations had implied something more. Will had responded positively to every song with romantic inclinations that Frederick played. There had even been hints from the other man's end as well. The prompt replies had buoyed his ego. Frederick had found it hard to see this as a mere friendship when Will seemed to have become much more comfortable with him after one meeting, until now. 

Their chemistry had been tangible the previous week. Frederick clung to those moments, his fingertips lingering on Will’s shoulder, finding muscle hidden under layers of broken in fabric. The way he’d been allowed to caress the other man’s palm with the pad of his thumb in a soothing way as he spread burn cream along the back of his hand. That night, Will’s eyes had occasionally locked with his own. Frederick didn't think that the media's portrayal of physical reactions when making eye contact with someone you're interested in were accurate until that moment.

Frederick’s throat constricted drily in the present. Had he read too much into the small actions he’d taken to display interest from Will? 

Trying to keep the crushing threat of rejection in the back of his mind, Frederick distractedly constructed his playlist, glancing between the desktop monitor and his phone rapidly. He had set it on the desk at the beginning of his shift, eager for the call that would tell him how soon he could expect Will. After half an hour, he stuffed it into his back pocket once more. It was better if he focused now, used his time to record all of his cues and facts, intros and advertisements, with the exception of another contest winner, before Will showed up. This way, their conversation wouldn't be cut short by an angry blaring alarm. Maybe Frederick could even take Will up to the booth while he conducted the contest and picked a winner for Sea Wolf's newly released CD and a chance for a trip to Las Vegas. It wasn't romantic, but surely a new experience would be seen as exciting from Will's point of view. 

Another half an hour passed before Frederick checked his phone again. He'd successfully lined up enough music, commercial breaks, and the recordings of his random facts, concert announcements, and song descriptions to leave the station on autopilot for the next two hours. Will had always began their e-mail correspondence around one in the morning. Now, one had come and gone. He was growing nervous, unlocking his phone and scrolling through their last few texts repetitively. Was he reading too much into this? Had Will actually gone to sleep? Frederick couldn't fault him for finally getting the rest he so deserved. 

He refreshed his e-mail for the fifth time, and began to clean out his inbox. No e-mail, no text, no call. Frederick looked longingly at his phone's dimmed screen once more, but it wasn't dark. It lit up and began to vibrate, buzzing across the desktop. He nearly fell out of his seat, moving violently to grab the phone when all he had needed to do was shift an inch.   
" Will?" he said, probably too quickly. But what if Will had been in an accident? Frederick tried futilely to slow his quickened pulse and shallow breaths. He needed to calm down. He _wasn't_ this desperate for attention, to have someone take genuine interest in him.

" Hey, Frederick. 'M outside." Will sounded like he was juggling too many objects again. " Take your time."

Frederick snorted at that and insisted that he would be down soon. Will wasn't one to ask for help, or even accept it when offered. He wanted so badly to change that.

After hanging up, Frederick scrambled out of his chair and toward the elevator. It was still on his floor and the doors opened as soon as he pressed the down button. The slow slide down seemed to increase the thump of his heartbeat. It was jumping high in his throat while the rest of his body continued downward. The doors opened.

The wind was stronger than before. Will's thick curls were blowing across his forehead violently. One hand, covered with roughened callouses that Frederick had felt the week before, clenched the folded top of a paper bag. His other held tightly to his old phone. Frederick had offered to make coffee for them this time.

The jacket Will wore was thin, not enough to shield him from the cold. Frederick walked across the lobby quickly and unlocked the door, shoving it open against the force of the wind. He moved to the side, making room for Will to come inside. The door closed heavily behind them. 

Will brushed his bangs from his face. Frederick resisted the urge to help. He smiled nervously, gesturing back to where he'd come from.

" Coffee's upstairs in the break room. I brought some of my own grounds, the ones we have are shit. Figured it might be more comfortable up there anyways." Frederick offered his hand, to take the paper bag while Will situated himself. 

They went upstairs, making small talk about the weather. Frederick worked to keep his eyes away from Will's face. They roamed over his wind burnt cheeks, to chapped lips, and up to his eyes. No matter how hard he tried to train his gaze at the other man's nose, it strayed. Will was too busy looking at his feet to notice.

" You ought to wear a warmer coat, Will. It'll snow by the end of the month," Frederick chided.

Will smiled tightly, shaking his head. " It's okay. More layers underneath." He pulled his flannel aside at the collar. There was another shirt, thick, underneath. Frederick swallowed down the urge to lecture him on what coats would insulate him the best.

" Well, if you're warm, that's all that matters." The doors slid open. Frederick led Will down the hallway for the second time, but under better circumstances.

The break room was much the same. Frederick had tried to clean it up while brewing the coffee earlier. There was no trash on the floors, the countertop had been washed, and he had pulled the two chairs from his office in here. They were much better than the rickety folding chairs, rusted and uneven. It wasn't nice, or pretty, but Frederick had tried.

Will sat without looking back at him. Frederick went to the coffee pot and poured two mugs. "Did you want sugar?" He asked in Will's direction.

"Two teaspoons."

Frederick stirred the amount in, watching the back of Will's head. It was bobbing slightly, like he was fighting exhaustion. Suddenly, Frederick felt guilty for lecherously staring at him. 

He set the two cups down carefully on the table and settled in beside Will. The chairs were situated next to each other. He could brush their elbows together, if he leaned forward. 

"Long day?" He asked as Will took a long drink of the coffee. Frederick winced--it was still so hot. He opened up the paper bag, grinning at what lied inside. " Jeez, six doughnuts? You weren't lying."

Will looked up at that, a genuine smile on his lips. His coffee cup was half empty. " I wasn't," he agreed, unashamedly reaching in to grab a Boston cream doughnut. Frederick's eyebrows shot up when Will bit in. Thick, off white filling bulged from the corner of his lips. The image was too much, and Frederick quickly busied himself with nibbling at his own pastry. He was so worried about the powdered sugar that coated his own lips that no, he definitely did not see the wet, pink tip of Will's tongue clearing that same cream in a far too seductive manner.

" So, um,” Frederick started again. He set his doughnut down and watched as Will did the same, placing his atop a napkin. Will smiled and swallowed. “ Is Boston cream your favorite?”

“ Sour cream glaze,” he insisted, pulling one of them out of the bag. “But they only had the one...so I figured I’d save it for last.” 

There was flakes of dried sugar on Will’s thumb. Frederick tore his eyes away again when Will’s face flushed. The silence stretched between sips of coffee and bites of doughnuts. It was frustrating that the conversation that had come so easily last week and more recently within their calls and texts seemed to evaporate when they were face to face once more. Frederick leaned back in his chair and drank deeply from his coffee. He'd need to get up for refills soon. 

" What bakery did you get these from?" he asked in an attempt to restart their dialogue. " Have you had this kind before, the raspberry? Whoever makes them, they know what's up." Frederick took the final bite. Powdered sugar settled on his face as he swallowed. He lifted a hand up to cover the mess on his skin as he cleaned it.

Frederick watched, stunned, as Will reached out, pulling his hand away. He licked his lips self consciously, removing a layer of sweetness. Will parted his own, breathed out shallowly before he spoke. " It's in Virginia, near where I live. I've never tasted the raspberry." Frederick's eyes darted between the bob of Will's Adam's apple as he swallowed and his lips that trembled. Will shifted their hands together. Their fingers intertwined. Will took a deep inhale, like he was going to dive into cold water. " Can I?"

There was a pregnant pause, one that was marked by a flicker of the overhead light and Frederick leaning forward, unable to help himself. He squeezed Will's hand gently as they gravitated closer to one another, too slowly. " Yeah," he breathed. Will's responding exhale washed over the bridge of his nose. 

They closed the space between them suddenly. 

Frederick tilted his head to the left and embedded his free hand in the other's dark curls. They were soft beneath his fingers. Will's hand squeezed his own, the other had moved to clench his sweater, reeling him in closer. His lips parted, inviting Will to deepen the kiss. He did.

A tongue darted into Frederick's mouth. It swiped along his own, against his teeth, over his lips. Will moaned. Frederick pulled back, startled, aroused, and unsure of how this had happened.

How had he gone from being unclear about the nature of Will's affection to having the man's tongue down his throat in a matter of minutes? What signs had he missed?

Frederick looked up at Will, attempting to push down his growing excitement. He needed clarity. His confusion deepened to worry when he saw the other's expression. Fear. Will was retreating, had thought that Frederick didn't want the kiss. He was leaning away, yanking his hands back into his lap. Frederick grabbed them in his own.

" I'm so--" Will started, shaking his head as if that would reverse his actions.

" Don't be," Frederick insisted. He squeezed Will's hands again. Will wouldn't look him in the eye.

" I shouldn't have--"

Frederick cut him off again. " I wanted you to. I told you to."

" But--"

" Do you not want this? Because I do." Will looked up at Frederick's forwardness. He seemed shocked. His lips were still parted.

" You, " he started slowly, tasting the words. Will was being hesitant. Frederick thought it was endearing. " You want this too?"

 _This_ felt so ambiguous. Frederick wished he hadn't said the word. 

" Yeah, Will. I like you. You're good company. I want this--want _you_.”

Will blushed. His cheeks were stained dark in the middle, like Frederick's sweater, but faded to a bright pink near his cheekbones, the color of the raspberry filling that Will had tasted in his mouth. The flush on pale skin suited him. He didn’t regret being forward.

“ Do you want to come get some real food with me when my shift is over?” Frederick asked, before remembering that Will had been nearly dead on his feet when he got in. He wanted to backpedal, to take back the offer without sounding like he didn’t want Will to come. “ You looked pretty tired when you came in, though. I understand if you can’t.”

Will shook his head quickly, as if the prospect of not coming was outrageous. “ Just a long day, like you said. The one night insomnia would come in handy.” 

Frederick smiled. He released Will's hands. " Did you want to talk about it?" 

Will looked into his eyes. He was searching for something. There was hesitation that wasn't related to the kiss they'd just shared. Frederick tried to keep his expression open and encouraging. 

" You shouldn't worry about it." Will ran his fingers over Frederick's forearm. His eyes were hollow, haunted. " More coffee?"

The room seemed to get colder. Frederick leaned into the touch and nodded. He should be more concerned about Will getting rest, but all he wanted to do was kiss him again. Will’s lips had tasted faintly of chocolate. His jaw was rough with stubble, it had abraded Frederick’s skin. He watched how Will poured coffee, how his shoulders were still so tense even when he walked back with the mugs. Maybe they’d both benefit from physical communication, rather than verbal.

Frederick took Will’s hand again as it set down his mug. Will sat again, settled back into the armchair. Frederick was glad that he’d switched out their seating. Will began to relax minutely, his muscles loosening and body molding to the form of his chair. His fingertips settled into Frederick’s palm, the harsh edge fading so that the calloused pads rubbed against his heartlines.

" I want to worry about you." Frederick moved closer, his words breathed over the line of Will's clenched jaw. He placed his other hand on the join of Will's neck and shoulder. The tendons jumped and twitched beneath the gentle pressure that he applied.

Will began to move away. Frederick curled his fingers into the thinner wisps of hair at the nape of the other man's neck. He stilled, slumped into the touch. 

" You don't know a lot of things about me." Will wouldn't meet his eyes. He was anticipating rejection.

" I want to."

Gently, Frederick guided Will to look up. He leaned in once more and brought their lips together. Will relaxed into this too, and began to move with urgency. His hand buried into Frederick's hair, tugging in a way that forced a gasp from one mouth to the other. 

Frederick forced himself to pull away. There was a reason for Will's prior forwardness, the way that he was utilizing physical passion as a distraction. The declaration Frederick made hadn't been a lie--he wanted to be more than acquaintances, more than friends, wanted to help ease whatever it was that Will was struggling with. 

“ It doesn’t have to be today,” Frederick started when Will opened his mouth to protest. “ In time. I just need to know that you're okay."

Will smiled ruefully. “ You _need_ to know?”

“ We’ve been friends for nearly half a year! Sure as hell doesn’t seem like anybody else is worrying. You carry the weight of the world with you.” Frederick could feel the base of his neck flushing, his tone becoming defensive. The corners of Will’s lips twitched upwards.

“ You’re not this nice to everyone, are you?”

“ It’s not, well...no.” He looked at Will, eyes searching for what had given him away. It was hard for Frederick to see listeners as more than numbers, musicians and the rare guest DJs as more than opportunities. Will had always been different. “ I care about you.”

Will’s eyes looked watery and Frederick didn’t know if it was the way that the light illuminated his face, exhaustion, or something else. He wouldn’t ask. 

Frederick looked at the clock over the doorway. There was an hour and a half left of prerecorded material, another hour until the end of his shift. If Will still wanted to go out for food at that point, Frederick would offer his office to nap in while he was in the booth. 

Their conversation slowed again, but it was no longer painful or uncomfortable. Between the two of them, they drank a pot of coffee while Frederick ran his index finger over the inside of Will’s wrist. He ate one more doughnut and spoke at length about a local band he had relentlessly promoted while in New Mexico that had recently signed to a large record label. Will’s eyes were glazed as he nodded and smiled to the story, his body relaxed, and Frederick didn’t mind that he was doing almost all of the talking at this point. When the alarm on Frederick’s phone went off, Will allowed himself to be led to the back office and sat down on the couch. Frederick dug out his hoodie to create a makeshift pillow. He watched as Will’s eyelids fluttered and shut on his way out of the room. 

Frederick gave away another two CDs. He watched the sky lighten from the small window on the opposite side of the room. Deep navy shifted to a haze of pale grays and blue as the sun attempted to brighten night to day. Commuters were beginning their drives, those expected at work early in the morning waking and readying themselves for the day. The exponential growth in numbers was expected during this time. There was an increase in calls, texts, and he posed a question about embarrassing relatives to those who were up this early. He announced the funnier responses over air and wrapped up his shift with two new songs. 

The morning personalities were chatting in the hallway over steaming cups of coffee when he left the studio. Frederick was glad that he’d shut the door to his office, hopefully the din of conversation hadn’t woke up Will. He greeted everyone, tried not seem as if he was rushing back down the hallway.

Frederick’s pace quickened once his coworkers had all ambled inside the cool room to record their sign-ons. He stopped in front of the door, only to have it creak open before his eyes.

Will stood, hair matted on one side and clothing rumpled. He held Frederick’s hoodie, cradling it under one arm. His eyes were bright, corners of his mouth creased into a smile. The act didn’t seem to take much effort anymore. It took all of Frederick’s self control not to kiss him.

When Will offered the hoodie, Frederick shook his head. He pushed the garment back, hoping Will would remember what he’d said earlier about dressing warmer. His hand didn’t stop, but rested itself on the small of Will’s back, guiding him back to the elevator.

“ Let’s get out of here.”


	4. Would You Know Me?

Will had woken to cottonmouth and a numb right leg. The couch he laid on was scratchy, with one soft spot. He nuzzled sleepily into the fabric that felt cool against his skin. 

Wakefulness hit him at once, muscles tensing from their relaxed state and hooded eyes snapping open. After sitting up and stretching, he looked down at the black hoodie that Frederick had laid upon the cushion before his head had fallen upon it, heavy with exhaustion. Will rubbed his palms over his eyes and dropped his head onto the back of the sofa. Behind the door, shoes scuffled and he heard the melodic tone of Frederick’s voice. He wondered if Frederick knew how loud he was.

He stood slowly, taking the jacket with him as he turned on the overhead lights and looked about the room. It was clean, organized. There were neatly arranged knick-knacks atop the desk, to the left of the desktop. His calendar was meticulous and color-coded. In the back corner, a bookshelf packed was with music, each section holding either records, CDs, or cassettes that were alphabetized. Frederick’s voice was approaching and Will realized that he was smiling. He walked across the small space and opened the door, finding himself face to face with the other man. 

“ Hey,” Will said to the slightly surprised look. He looked to where Frederick’s eyes were directed and saw the still-folded hoodie trapped under his arm. “ Oh!--here.”

When it was pushed back at him, Will held onto the fabric a bit tighter. The hallway was much colder. Frederick mumbled something about getting out of there and flipped off the light behind them. He stopped in the break room momentarily, reappearing with a dark maroon coat that he managed to sling rather gracefully on while they walked into the elevator. 

“ You mentioned a diner,” Will brought up as the doors shut and they moved down. He leaned against the side of the car, not to get away from Frederick, but to keep himself from jumping on the other man once more. 

Their physical contact had brushed an itch that Will had been ignoring for what seemed like years. Now the sensation was present, at the forefront of his mind. He craved the weight of a body pressed against his own, the sweet stickiness of foreign saliva upon his skin, in his mouth. The need had last been tended to long ago and Will couldn’t recall the face, name, or even gender, of the last person he’d been intimate with. The hunger tugged deeply in his gut, coated itself thickly upon his skin. 

He was afraid of losing control, so he grabbed the railing. Frederick stepped forward, a look of concern twisting his lips downward once more. Will wanted to warn Frederick that he wasn’t the type of person to be involved with, had to swallow back the words of advice perched on his tongue when a hand brushed across his stubble. 

The thumb traced the contour of his cheek, down to cup his jaw more firmly. Their lips met and Will groaned because the hot, wet slide of their tongues together was exactly what he wanted, what he _needed_ in order to ground himself in this moment. Frederick pulled away when the elevator doors opened. Will hesitated a moment before joining him in the lobby. A thick blanket of fog had settled upon the city while they were upstairs. 

“ Do you want to follow me?” Frederick asked as they stepped outside. The wind was absent, but the cold was bone deep. Will shivered as he nodded.

His car stalled once, twice, and then the engine came to life. Frederick’s car, a small red four-door, was idling by the exit, waiting for him. They drove for fifteen minutes on a few state highways, three lefts and a right into the parking lot. Two semi-trucks spanned the asphalt to the right of the diner, four vehicles scattered within the other spots. Will backed into a space, cut the engine. Frederick had meandered over, his hand resting on the bumper of Will’s beat up car.

He peeked into the windows of the diner. The edges were grimy, greasy. Two men wearing heavy jackets shared one of the booths against it. Others sat at the countertop, mugs of coffee and plates of homestyle food in front of them. There was wood panelling peeling off the walls and there was one waitress who wore a friendly, matronly expression on her face. Will smiled--it was the kind of place that he would frequent, if he ate out.

A bell rang over their heads when they crossed through the door. He glanced at Frederick, who slid comfortably into a chair, a sheepish look on his face. Will sat across from him. The sizzling of food from the kitchen made his apparent hunger known. Aside the doughnuts they’d shared just hours ago, Will couldn’t recall his last meal. He made a mental note to bring it up to Hannibal in their next session. Such a superficial, visceral problem seemed approachable during their time together.

Will glanced up from the water-stained table when fingertips brushed against the back of his hand. Frederick had a smile playing at his lips; it looked natural there, like this connection was something they’d shared for years. He tried not to slip behind Frederick’s eyes, to stay in the moment and enjoy the warmth that flooded his skin. These were _his_ emotions, relaxation and comfort that had been gifted to him, not sensations he felt vicariously. Will latched onto Frederick’s hand, twining their fingers together, staring at the interlocking flesh. He was here, with Frederick, and there was nothing wrong with feeling wanted. 

A light squeeze, fingertips brushing over his pulse at the join of thumb and wrist, and Will glanced up once more. Frederick was blushing now, looking over to their right. Will turned and found himself face to face with the auburn-haired waitress from the window. She had a wide smile on her face, cheeks flushed with exertion, and her heels were clicking from where she bounced on them. 

“ Is this him?” She said in a low, conspiratorial voice to Frederick. Will fought off a self-deprecating smile and looked the other way. He could feel the blood rushing to his cheeks, was beginning to pull his fingers apart from Frederick’s. 

Digits flexed against his own extended ones, reeling them back in. Frederick was smiling kindly when he looked up to him, but swatted the waitress playfully on the forearm. “ Natalie...this is Will. Will, Natalie.”

Will managed to make eye contact with her after a few moments, then adjusted his glasses minutely to refract it away. “ Um, hi.”

There was a minute or two of Natalie and Frederick speaking quickly to one another. Will chose to zone out, to trace the superficial veins on the back of Frederick’s hand, feel each crease of his knuckles. His palms were soft, the contrast between their skin stark. He was lost in the feel of skin on skin, the intimate slide of flesh that was still appropriate at this point. Frederick pressed his thumb down lightly and Will refocused his attention once more.

“ Did you want to eat anything? I’ll pay.”

Will waved his hand dismissively at the offer of payment and turned to make eye contact with Natalie again. He shouldn’t have been so quick to detach from the situation, she had a curious gleam in her eyes now. A pen was poised over her palm-sized notebook, waiting. “ An omelet, ham and cheese? Oh, and coffee, please.”

The waitress winked at Frederick, spun on her heel, and walked away from them. Will felt a weight lifted off of his chest. His airways were cleared.

“ I...I’m sorry. I’m not good with people.” He felt guilty.

“ You don’t have to be. You’re good with me.” Frederick’s teeth shone in the too-bright lights of the diner, and Will didn’t feel patronized. There was no need for special care, the attempts to coddle him so that he wouldn’t have another break down. Frederick didn’t see a fragile, barely pieced together, broken thing. Will’s heart was fluttering, beating a pattern across his ribs that he wasn’t familiar with. He didn’t know what else to do, so he just smiled back.

\---

“ You seem lighter.”

Hannibal’s voice cut through the silence between them. Will had easily relaxed into his designated chair, unsure of how to begin their conversation. It had been two weeks since he had eaten breakfast with Frederick at a greasy diner. Although he had spent time on the latest Ripper tableau, pouring over photographs and forensic evidence, the gore didn’t follow him home. His dreams were plagued by the feel of Frederick’s lips, glossed with chapstick and tasting of stale coffee. He woke remembering the tingling he had felt when one of the other man’s hands had slipped underneath his flannel, cool against the heated skin stretched across his hipbone. 

Will looked up for a rare moment of eye contact. “ I feel buoyant.”

Hannibal flicked open the button his suit coat and dropped gracefully into the chair opposite. He crossed his legs in a fluid motion and poised a hand atop the knee. 

“ Ms. Lounds published a rather vilifying article about the FBI yesterday evening.” 

The rain was coming down in sheets, sluicing over the clean glass of Hannibal’s pretentiously large windows. Will found himself preoccupied by how the wind whipped droplets of cold water from the few leaves hanging onto their branches. 

Hannibal shifted in his seat, leaned back. When Will managed to bring his gaze back to his psychiatrist, the man had arranged his limbs and expression to appear open and receptive. Will wasn’t fooled.

“ I’m not concerned.” And he wasn’t. Will had more than just cases to stick around for. He had someone who didn’t expect him to do much besides be himself. There wasn’t a requirement to slip into a killer’s mind. His own was acceptable. He was enough.

“ What has changed?”

Will was surprised. Hannibal rarely asked straightforward questions, favoring to probe with provoking statements. “ I’m not sure what you’re asking. I don’t care about the FBI. I solve the cases, prevent further serial murders, and provide the families with closure. Jack can deal with the bureau, I’ll deal with the killers.” He couldn’t look up from the stretch of khakis over his knee joint.

“ Freddie Lounds has once again insinuated that you are not so different from those that you empathize with.” Will could hear the smile coloring the end of the other man’s sentence. Hannibal knew what gears he was turning, the mechanisms he was enacting. The doctor had found whatever he was looking for and was eager for the anticipated reaction.

The rain had slowed, leaving a soft rhythmic beat of water against the pane in place of the dull roar. Will could hear the jittery impulses of his nerves. He stood, moved to the window so the noise of the weather would be louder in his ears. “ I don’t need Freddie Lounds to tell me who I am. I know where I stand.”

“ Who are you worried about being on the receiving end of this article, then?”

Will closed his eyes and thought of the kisses Frederick had pressed to his jaw when they’d parted. The beginnings of Frederick’s stubble had left his skin tingling. Would that touch disappear, if Frederick knew what he did for a living?

“ I have been grounding myself.” He put his hands in his pockets to keep them from clenching and unclenching.

Hannibal had moved from his chair while Will was lost in a memory. He was behind Will, leaning against the desk. 

“ You are reaping the benefits.”

Frederick’s fingers, on his skin. Reminding him where he was, who he was with.

“ I fear that Freddie Lounds will inhibit my ability to cope.” They were dancing around the subject. Will was dancing away from Hannibal, flesh crawling with how close the doctor stood to him. He circled the office, eyes flickering up to make sure that Hannibal remained where he was.

“ She will continue this practice until it stops bringing in the audience she craves.” 

Will placed his palms on the back of the chair he’d formerly been sitting in. “ That won’t happen until the Ripper is caught.”

“ Perhaps it is time to consider an alternative method until we reach that point.”

Brown eyes looking at him fondly, an open expression of affection. No fear, just acceptance. The flood of relief that accompanied the moment. 

Hannibal was mimicking his stance, hands relaxed upon the seat at his desk. 

“ I don’t think there is another method,” Will said slowly. He looked down at his fingers, which were gripping the leather tightly. “ This is working for me.”

Saying it out loud seemed to have triggered some sort of epiphany. Will didn’t want to hide himself from Frederick. He felt unfamiliarly reassured by the memories he'd conjured in his mind. 

Hannibal was walking in the opposite direction of where Will stood, to the cabinet that held his liquor. A finger of whiskey for Will, glass of Chardonnay for Hannibal. They returned to their respective chairs with drinks in hand, relaxed as if the former tension between them hadn't occurred. Will felt that Hannibal knew more than he was letting on, had perceived the color in Will's cheeks and brightness in his eyes for what it was. 

The forensics team had asked if Will had taken in a new stray. Will had chuckled, because it felt more like Frederick had been the one to take him in, letting him nap in the DJ's office, insisting on paying for the bill at the diner, sheltering him from the rain with his coat. Beverly was the only one to raise a brow at his laugh, the twinkle in her eye the same as when she found an incriminating fiber.

With alcohol in the mix, Will knew the short attempt at "therapy" was over, replaced by what Hannibal always termed _conversations_ to Jack. He carefully nursed his drink, weary of a loose tongue. 

" Have you sought out therapeutic advice elsewhere? I understand the latest Ripper case has been gruesome, and I hope that I am providing you with what you need during our time together. " Hannibal sounded wounded, but Will detected an underlying tone of jealousy laced through his words. 

" Just allowing myself to have human companionship. " Will was testing the waters, attempting to perceive how correct his assumption had been. 

The doctor's pupils dilated as his nostrils flared. The reactions were rapid, carefully controlled and masked, but Will had what he wanted. He knew who was good for him, what was poison disguised as sustenance. The minute downturn quirk of Hannibal’s lips had righted itself to an even smaller, encouraging smile.

“ This office is a safe place, Will. I am glad that you have found someone else to create a positive environment with. You deserve to feel heard.” 

When Will left, half of his whiskey remained. He didn’t miss the white-knuckled grip that Hannibal had on the door, and would have wondered why his confident psychiatrist was losing grip on his control if every thought in his brain didn’t center around anticipating his next date with Frederick.

\---

There was no evidence left to categorize, no scenarios to consider, and Will was tired. The body had been recovered less than a day ago by local PD in northwestern Maryland. It was a textbook Ripper tableau, viscera strewn about the scene, heart and one kidney removed. Forensics had been in the lab since then, and each of the team looked like they were running on steam.

It had been a week since his last session with Hannibal, three since he’d met up with Frederick. For once, they’d met in daylight. Frederick had been delighted to meet the pack, Will had committed color of the other man’s hair in the sunlight to his memory.

They were supposed to meet again this evening. It was nearly ten, the light long extinguished when they’d combed the corpse for the last piece of evidence. Price was stabilizing himself with a hand on his gurney, Brian had passed out in an office chair that was still slightly rotating clockwise, and Beverly was staring at the little bagged items they had, hand on her chin. 

“ There’s nothing here,” Will said for the fifth time. The scene had been nearly washed away by the rain when they’d gotten there, mud and autumnal leaves strewn about it. He hadn’t been able to figure out what the Ripper was trying to convey, couldn’t see beyond the cool, calculated removal of tissue and artistic display of limbs. Jack wasn’t satisfied with the familiar description.

Beverly tapped the end of a pen against her lips. She frowned momentarily, but then spun on one leg to look at Will, eyes gleaming with mischief. “ What do you have planned? With who?”

He couldn’t help the flush that creeped up on his face, but removed his glasses while rubbing down his eyes. The pressure of a headache was building behind them, threatening to overwhelm him. Jimmy had turned to face the two of them at the question, interested.

“ Nothing with no one.”

Beverly wagged the pen she held between thumb and forefinger. “ You’re not getting out of this one, Graham. No work left to do, but Jack isn’t letting us go.”

“ Oh, yes, I’d love to get a primary account of what your love life is like,” Jimmy chimed in.

Will raised a brow. “ I’m dating someone. We were supposed to go out tonight. I don’t want to have him wait up for me if Jack is going to keep us here for another ten hours. It’s his day off.”

“ Media’s had access to the fact that there’s a new Ripper murder by now,” Beverly said carefully. “Does your boyfriend not know what you do?”

“ He’s not--”

Beverly gave a toothy smile, to which Will made an exasperated, but defeated, noise. “ I don’t want him to worry.” 

Jimmy sighed from somewhere in the corner as Beverly made a sappy “aww” noise. The high pitched sound woke up Brian, whose spinning had suddenly stopped as his eyes popped open. Zeller opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted when Jack entered the room.

The teasing quieted immediately, eager faces turned to the man that would release them from their prison. Jack’s mouth was pressed into a tight line, eyes as expectant as theirs were, but for a different reason. 

“ Well?” He boomed, when no one offered up a report.

“ We’ve catalogued and interpreted all of the evidence,” Beverly started. “ There’s not much more we can do until we have an ID on the guy.”

Jack huffed, frustrated and whirled on Will. 

" It's the Ripper. You're not going to find anything he doesn't want you to find. He's, " Will took his glasses off and scrubbed a hand over his face. His head was pounding as he recalled the emotions felt at the crime scene. Deep seated frustration spread through his muscles. How hadn't he noticed before? 

" He was agitated. Something--someone set this off."

" Could our victim have pissed him off?"

" No, he doesn't care about them at all. Whoever irritated him...he cares about them. "

Will made himself look up at Jack, the vicarious anger ebbing away from his vision. He took a deep breath, watched the gears in his boss' head turn. 

" Go home." Jack's voice was defeated. Will didn't need to empathize.

Beverly teased him about calling the mystery man on their way to the parking garage. Will shrugged her off with a few chuckles and half promises of inviting them all out together. 

The moon was engulfed in a cloud as Will dialed Frederick's number. He turned keys into the ignition, cold settling below the worn fabric of his coat. 

" Will?"

Frederick sounded worried. He kicked himself mentally while trying to rub warmth back into his hands. " Hey, Fred. I'm just leaving work now, I'll be at your place in like an hour or so."

" You were supposed to be out nearly three hours ago. Are you okay? Did someone get hurt?" Frederick didn't know anything about the nature of Will's work, how many people he'd only seen after they were beyond hurt. 

Guilt swam in his stomach as he pulled onto the interstate. " I'll explain when I get there."

\---

" The Chesapeake Ripper?"

" Yes." Will watched, helpless as Frederick nearly collapsed onto the sofa in his living room. The other man's hands shook as he ran them over his closed eyelids, swiped across the facial hair on his jaw. 

" I'm sorry," he tried again. 

Frederick looked up to where Will stood, uncomfortable and alienated. He'd only been to Frederick's house twice before. There was an overnight bag in his trunk, hope in his belly when he had packed it. Now, he felt like this was the beginning of a fight. He'd warned Frederick, tried to elude to the monsters in his closet. He didn't want to hide them. 

Their eyes met. Will felt his abdomen tighten, bracing for an emotional blow. 

“ Thank you,” Frederick breathed. He scooted to the side, making room on the couch. A hand patted the spot. Will sat, unsure of what else to do, what to make of Frederick’s gratefulness. He’d expected anger, fear--of him, or for him, he wasn’t sure--and most of all, rejection. This wasn’t the reaction he’d prepared for.

Frederick’s warmth seeped into him, just as the man’s hand squeezed his knee. “ I don’t understand,” Will heard himself saying.

The laugh caught him off guard. It was relieved. “ You weren’t being wholly honest before, I’m just glad I know. I told you, Will, I want to worry about you. I can handle this. Thank you for letting me in.” 

Will thought about how lucky he was, briefly, to have stumbled upon someone with his best interests in mind. It was rare, the genuine desire and affection that he saw in Frederick’s eyes. The expression only brought to light just how fake the emotions of those surrounding him were. He felt his the careful control he’d assembled on his drive over slipping away, seeping out of his muscles and trickling down his skin. All the time spent preparing and rehearsing the words he should say, around Hannibal, to Jack, in front of Alana, was worthless when Frederick was his audience. The spontaneity was valued, and Will thought that maybe, Frederick was never this relaxed around his co workers either.

The chill didn’t touch the interior of Frederick’s apartment, but Will felt his skin yearning for the warmth of another’s. He adjusted his thigh to run along the length of Frederick’s, brought a hand to trace the line of Frederick’s facial hair. “ Let me in.”

Frederick’s eyebrows raised minutely, a second of hesitant curiosity. Their breath mingled together as fingers intertwined. Lips brushed against Will’s, a hand cupping the back of his skull, cradling the join between neck and head. When they separated, words bloomed across his mouth. 

“ Are you sure?”

“ I want you to know all of me, Frederick, but this isn’t one sided.” His thumb traced over the other man’s bottom lip, still wet with borrowed saliva. 

Frederick seemed to tremble slightly, but he leaned into the sensation. Will watched as the other man’s eyes glazed over just as he became aware of the haze of desire clouding his own vision. They came together with the force of tidal waves, their constructive interference escalating the rapid increase in temperature. Will felt his outer layer of clothing leaving his body, coat and shoes crumpling onto the carpet. Hands, long fingers, under his flannel, up against his ribs, tugging and pushing in a rhythm that made him unsure of which way to move. Mostly, Will just focused on his mouth and the one attached to it. The soft suction of lips, grazing of teeth, brush of stubble against his own skin. Goosebumps raised along his arms as he felt for the hem of Frederick’s sweater, pushed at the fabric.

When Frederick pulled away, Will nipped his lower lip, tugging the reddened tissue. He leaned in to repeat the action, eager to hear a repeat of the sharp, needy intake of breath from the other man, to watch how his eyelids fluttered and his pupils rolled, but Frederick leaned back again.

“ Bedroom?”

Will nodded, assent to separate if only to move to a more horizontal position.

“ You’ll be the death of me,” the profiler breathed as he followed the sashaying of hips down a darkened hallway. Frederick’s mattress was supple beneath their weight and the headboard barely thudded against olive painted walls. Will thought to pin Frederick against the duvet, but opted instead to shimmy out of his khakis, shrug his flannel to the floor. 

He turned to where a light flickered on. Frederick was down to boxer briefs that were strained over his growing erection, the fading tan on his skin glowing from the singular corner lamp. Will swallowed thickly, took a step towards the other man. He was immediately gathered into strong arms, the last bit of breath leaving his lungs when callouses smoothed over the ridge of his shoulder blade, down his spine, to rest upon the jut of his hips. 

Will surged forward in an effort to reclaim his dominance. He had to show Frederick that he could take care of himself, that it would be okay. They stumbled back onto the bed again, Will atop the other man. The hands traveled lower, toyed with the waistband of his underwear. Pelvises collided, the slide of sensitive flesh through thin cloth drawing moans from each of them. When the grip on his last bit of clothing tightened, Will helped Frederick in removing it, scrambled to reciprocate. 

The low lighting in the room played wonders on Frederick’s form, biceps and jawbone carved from shadows, the subtle dips on his lower back, and again long the muscles of his thigh. Will felt dizzy with the smell of him, brainless with unashamed _want_. He reached out, touched Frederick’s flesh. Warm, firm, pulse thumping rapidly. 

“ You’re beautiful,” Will whispered, draping himself over Frederick’s torso again. Their bodies slid together, electric friction slicing through his nerves when their cocks touched. “ We don’t have to--”

“ I want you.”

Frederick’s eyes were serious, pupils blown and irises flickering rapidly between Will’s. Will didn’t think he could fuck Frederick, not now, but he wanted to feel, and to return the favor. He wanted the sluggishness of a brain after orgasm, to not worry about anything other than wringing pleasure from the man under him, and then staying by his side. 

Will shifted to lay parallel, facing Frederick. He kissed the other slowly, fit his fingers into those dimples that had caught his eye. Using his leverage, Will pulled their groins to brush again. Repeating the motion earned him urgent noises from Frederick, fingernails pressing half-moons into his ass, rutting that worked in time to his own. When the teasing movement became frustrating, Will spat in one of his hands and gripped their erections together.

“ God, Will.” Frederick gasped, thrusting up into Will’s hand. 

Heat arked through his body, reflexes triggering and neurons firing in overtime. He bucked, eager to feel the sensation once more. Will gripped them tighter, felt the thumping pulse of blood through Frederick’s cock throbbing against his own, underneath his palm. 

Will didn’t notice a hand leaving his flesh, but his half lidded eyes quickly opened when another grasp joined his. There was lubrication on it, wet noises from the sliding of their flesh against one another. Cowper’s fluid combined and contaminated the thick, warming jelly. Will felt the muscles of his pelvic floor tightening, jaw clenching with the effort of not releasing. It had been so long, and Frederick was panting and moaning, arching in a way that enticed and excited. 

“ ‘M close,” he grunted, thrusting up once more in their joint hold. The smooth heads of their cocks rubbed. Overwhelming sensation bloomed across the oversensitive glans and black filled his vision. 

Teeth drove into Will’s neck as he cried out his release, the pleasure stinging and then numbing his nerve endings. Frederick moaned against Will’s flesh, sucked greedily through the crashing waves of orgasm, continued the rolling of his hips. Will’s hand moved automatically, pulled away from his spent member to focus solely on Frederick. He used the other to pull the man’s head, not unkindly, by a handful of hair to rejoin their lips in a feverish, loud kiss. It was moments before Frederick bit hard enough to spill blood, just as his semen spilled into the mess that Will had made less than a minute ago.

They laid back, chests heaving, sticky hands intertwined over the aftermath of their pleasure. Frederick was chuckling again, steadily growing in volume.

“ You need to stop laughing at me when I’m vulnerable,” Will warned, squeezing the join between them. 

Frederick returned it with a gentle tug to his digits and rolled from the bed. He returned a few seconds later, towel in hand. Cooling mess cleaned up, they curled together, ankles rubbing and chests touching. Lazy kissing faded to slow breathing, the pads of Frederick’s thumbs stilled against his cheek. 

“ Are you falling asleep?” Will whispered. The only response was a whistling inhale, followed by a long, slow exhale against his forehead. Dead to the world, there was a halo of light beyond Frederick’s tousled hair. 

Even though he had come clean, been accepted with open arms, and physically reassured Frederick, Will felt something tugging at the pit of his stomach. Not the throbbing, pleasurable warning of impending orgasm, but cold and sharp, a sensation that left Will feeling nauseous, paranoid. An air of foreboding had replaced the guilt he felt previously, because it was not about him. It was about Frederick, and what could potentially happen to this innocent bystander. Will hadn’t wanted to drag him in to begin with for the emotional burden, but as he reached over the other man’s sleeping form to turn off the lamp, he realized that this worry had been masking the more serious, physical consequences of their relationship. 

Frederick was a man full of light, at least in Will’s presence. Will could imagine all too well that those who had ended up in the Ripper’s tableaus, laid supine on sterile gurneys to be tested and pried apart yet again, had impacted others in their lives the same way. 

Will’s grip on Frederick’s side became more secure. With blood on the mind, he remained awake, the sole guardian of their fragile union.


	5. Stability

It was snowing, crystalline structures coming into focus only to dissolve upon the asphalt. Half of Frederick wished the dust would stick, the memory of his first snowball fight just a week ago coming to the forefront of his vision.

Will had insisted on it. They had stayed inside all morning, cuddled under throws by the roaring fire, only getting up to let the dogs out and use the restroom. The second time Will got up to open the door for his pack, he had chuckled. Frederick asked why, and was told to leave his warm cocoon of fleece to look. 

Blankets held tightly about himself to fend off the cold, Frederick popped his head to see outside, where one of the larger dogs, Brutus, had rolled a lopsided mound of snow together.

" How did he do that!?"

Frederick was torn between watching the dog and turning to see Will’s look of amused disbelief. He stepped outside and then hissed at the cold that seeped through his socks. The layer of frost on the deck melted beneath his step, and Frederick was momentarily too amazed to allow reflexes to kick in. The desert had granted him rusted, craggy beauty. He had appreciated its glory for years, but snow was worth the guilty feeling he got when reminded of how he’d abandoned the dry heat and dusty winds. When the painful freezing sensation finally reached his brain, Frederick jumped back to the safety behind the threshold. Wills fingers rested upon his hip, reassuring and hot in comparison to the polar gust outside. 

“ It’s good packing snow.”

“ I…” Frederick didn’t know how to ask. He always felt dumb about these things. Instead, he got an idea, confident smirk blooming across his face. “ Show me?”

Will’s eyebrows raised as he shrugged, closing the door to leave the few dogs that remained outside. He rifled through the hall closet, tossing out boots and a heavy coat, two pairs of gloves. Frederick peeled off his damp socks and replaced them with woolen ones that Will handed him, slipped into his black pea coat and Will's boots and gloves. The shoes fit snugly, the gloves made his hands clumsy and stiff. Will was wearing a more weather resistant coat than Frederick had ever seen him in. He was still smirking.

Frederick didn't really understand why the other was smiling so widely until he ended up lying on his back in the snow, masses of it in his hair, smothered across the reddening skin of his face. They laughed until the shivering disturbed their ability to get anything else done. Will’s gloved fingers were laced in between his own thickly bundled ones.

He watched Will stumble upwards, footing slipping along an icy patch. Frederick was content to lay on the cold, hard ground, where he could look up to see the flush in Will’s cheeks, how the wind mussed his hair, wet from snow melt. Will wasn’t so eager to spend what remained of the daylight in the cold, and made it known to Frederick by pulling him up, hands under his armpits. 

“ Jesus, Will!”

The house was warmer than Frederick had remembered. Together, they stripped from cool, damp clothing to reveal pink skin. A shower washed away the cold, and their hands had gone astray from cleaning, to massaging and tugging pleasure from one another’s bodies. They were comfortable with each other, enough where wearing Will’s baggy clothing was not a big deal to Frederick. Curling up on the sofa with mugs of hot chocolate in hand wasn’t a unique experience to memorize every detail of, but a comforting routine. Will had graded papers. Frederick had looked at news in the music scene. It was a memorable afternoon, just because he had spent it with Will.

He wished to go back to it, the day off, even the bone deep cold that had invaded his body for what felt like hours. Even Will’s warm hands and a roaring fire couldn’t rub away the contracting of muscles and chattering of teeth. Frederick would do that again, in a heartbeat, if he didn’t have to be at the radio station for a twelve hour shift on New Year’s Eve.

Although Frederick couldn't think of anyone who listened to the radio during this holiday, and his boss had been hard pressed to come up with a rationale, Frederick had drawn the short straw. He had fantasized about spending the evening with Will, who grumbled about a party with his co workers. Will talked about them often, and Frederick had looked forward to meeting them. Maybe Will would have even worn something besides plaid, would have shown off Frederick to the others. Frederick had wanted that, to be a part of a world that extended behind their respective homes, the diner, and the radio station.

So he focused on the snow that melted around his feet, reluctant to unlock the doors. Going inside would mean resigning himself to half of a day of boredom. 

An alarm on his phone went off. He needed to be inside, finishing up playlists and organizing contests that would be won by the handful of listeners he would accumulate. Frederick unlocked the doors, stomped the water from his boots and headed to the elevators.

\---

“ This is The Chill, you’re the ninth caller! Who am I talking to?” Frederick said into the receiver. He was giving away tickets to a concert on New Year’s Day, at one of the more beautiful amphitheaters in the city. With the snow, the sound was sure to be interesting.

“ Hey, Fred.” 

Will’s voice. Tinny through the speaker, but warm and deep. Frederick’s eyebrows raised and he laughed a bit. Under normal hours, he’d have to put Will on hold and take a new caller, with conflict of interest. But it had taken nearly ten minutes to even get nine callers, something rare even during their slow hours. Surely, management wouldn’t care.

“ Well, everyone listening out there, this is my Ravenstag, if you’ve been tuning into the early morning broadcast. Looks like after all this time, he’s finally won himself something.”

Frederick could hear the smile in Will’s tone when he spoke next. “ No, I won something much better awhile ago.”

Fingers fumbling, Frederick took Will off the air, rushed a “hold on a sec” into the disconnected receiver, away from his mic, and smoothly transitioned into a new playlist. His skin was flushed, cheeks burning and ears red. Will had been uncharacteristically romantic. It was unexpected.

He picked up the discarded phone and cradled it between shoulder and jaw. “ Will? Are you still there?”

“ _Your_ Ravenstag?” Will’s words were heavy with implication, but he sounded far from unhappy.

“ Yes,” Frederick said, breathless. “ I can’t believe you said that on air...Will, I think--”

The words were halted on his tongue, saved by an interjection.

“ Stop thinking. Come downstairs.”

The line went dead. Frederick saw no other choice, so he wrapped himself in the hoodie that Will had borrowed. It went back and forth between their houses, alternating in smells. Now, it was dusted in dog hair. 

He took the stairs, eager for whatever awaited him. The lobby was cold, but Frederick had little time to register that sensation when his entire focus laid behind glass.

Will was outside, bundled up against the still night air. A bottle of champagne was in one hand, paper grocery bag in the other. He was visibly trembling, so Frederick rushed to let him in.

“ The party?”

A smile quirked on the other man’s lips. Will didn’t do social gatherings. “ Not gonna happen without you. I brought drinks.” He raised the bottle, which upon closer inspection, Frederick saw was sparkling cider. It was for the best--he shouldn’t be drunk at work. “ And snacks.” Will shook the bag.

They went upstairs. Frederick was still amazed that Will had come out here on New Year’s Eve, when he could have been having a better time with his friends, or resting at home. “ You didn’t have to visit.”

Will scoffed. “ It’s a fucking twelve hours shift, Frederick. You deserve better. I missed you, wanted to show you.” 

The booth was chilly and Frederick had a space heater under the desk. He brought it out into the open while Will dragged the extra chair from the side of the room. From the bag, he produced plastic drink flutes, a sleeve of crackers and slices of cheese and dried meat. 

“ You spoil me.” Frederick didn’t even try to sound taken aback. He loved it, relished in the way Will’s chest swelled and his pride grew. Will wanted to take care of him. He was willing to be pampered.

“ As long as I still get to take you to that concert, we’re good.” 

Will sat in his chair, removed the foil from the neck of the cider bottle. Their glasses were filled with bubbling liquid, two paper plates filled with finger food. Frederick thought of how much time he had before needing to get back on air. It was ten, only two hours left until the new year and he was happier than he could’ve ever predicted when taking this job nearly a year ago. 

Even when establishing a relationship with Will to begin with, under a pseudonym, Frederick hadn’t anticipated being much more than friends. Now he couldn’t imagine remaining in the rhythm they had once established, shallow words and hollow discussions. Will had been untethered, but Frederick wanted to provide him with a dock. 

He loved how Will relaxed around him, put down his burden at the door. It was a visible change, the relaxing of a clenched jaw and tightened shoulders, the light that flooded blue irises. Whatever dulled Will’s personality, reduced him to a set of tools, was gone when they were together. Frederick was proud, unreasonably possessive, of the effect he had on Will. 

Will was perfectly capable of eliciting reactions from him as well. Frederick was most caught off guard by the blunt, crass demands. They weren’t always in words, but sometimes hands grappling at his body. He melted underneath the touch, eager and willing. There weren’t words after, but Frederick didn’t need them. He knew, could feel the emotions rolling off Will, could imagine the empath sinking into Frederick’s own brain, realizing just how deeply he returned the feelings.

A few fingers ran along the inner seam of his jeans, higher to his thigh. Frederick sat up straight, brushed way the digits, and stared pointedly at Will. 

“ I...I’m on the clock, Will.” 

“ How long do you have until you need to be on the air again?” The hand that Frederick swatted away returned, landed where the denim tightened around his crotch. Will’s eyes wouldn’t meet his, thumb rubbing firm circles. 

Frederick dipped down, captured the other man’s lips with his own. They were soft, still cold from the weather. He pulled away and shook his head. “ Only an hour until I need to start doing countdown related things. We shouldn’t…”

“ I wanted to show you.” 

His resolve was slipping. Frederick hesitated. “ Show me what?”

Will rolled his chair closer, until their knees were touching. A palm fitted itself to the joint of his hip, lips brushed the shell of his ear. 

“ I’ve missed you. It’s been a week.” The words were breathed across his temple, fingers tangled to tug the short hairs at the back of his neck. 

“ I…” Frederick stopped short when Will’s mouth moved down instead, tongue licking a stripe diagonally along the thick muscle of his neck. Teeth pressed against the flesh, nipping along it. “ Will…”

A second hand was at his chest, tugging the zipper of his hoodie downwards. “ Let me.”

The protests had been kissed from his lips, any remaining doubts cleared from his head, replaced by a cloud of lust. Will’s eyes were bright in the fluorescence, a muscle twitching in his cheek. Frederick couldn’t refuse him. 

They ended up on the floor in a jumble of limbs. Frederick wasn’t sure who had initiated the movement, the carpet wasn’t exactly comfortable, but all he cared about was how his body was pressed tightly against Will’s, that the layers of clothing that separated their flesh were being removed. Momentarily, they parted to kick off shoes and slide out of pants. When Will straddled him, Frederick’s bare ass was atop his hoodie, his cock rubbing against the other’s thigh.

“ I want you,” he whispered into their next kiss, fist pumping Will’s erection. “ All of you.”

Will leaned back, fumbled with his wallet. Foil glinted in the light when he ripped the condom wrapper. Frederick spat on his hand, ran it over Will’s cock again. His stomach was flipping, nervousness settling somewhere behind his navel. Will rolled the rubber on, thin over the purpled head, red shaft swollen and pulsing with blood.

Frederick let his thighs fall apart, lifted his hips for a second folded article of clothing. Will had slicked his fingers with something. One thick digit pressed against his furled, tightened entrance. Pain seared through his lower back as it breached him. Frederick gasped, clenched down and grabbed Will’s wrist. 

“ I’m yours,” Will promised. His free hand was gripping the left side of Frederick’s hip, fingers stroking the surrounding skin. 

The finger pressed deeper, burning through him. Frederick was panting, eyes closed. Will kissed him slowly, refocusing his attention elsewhere. Their tongues moved together and Will pressed his thumb against Frederick’s perineum. The sensation changed, bloomed into a reflex that made his half-hard dick twitch back to life. 

“ There, again,” he begged. 

It withdrew instead, replaced by two digits. Will was insistent, thrusting in hard. The other hand grasped his flagging erection, stroking him in time. Pleasure rocketed up his spinal cord, chasing away any discomfort.

 

Their eyes met briefly when Will pulled both his mouth and hand away, noses brushing together. 

“ I love you, Will. Please.” 

A moment of hesitation, with maintained eye contact. But Will kissed him again, harder. The head of his cock pressed against Frederick’s loosened hole. “ Please,” he reiterated.

Will sank inside. It was still a stretch, and their bodies came together slowly as Frederick let out a low, audible exhale. One hand dug into the short, red carpet fibers without purchase, the other pressed against the small of Will’s back, to make sure he didn’t stop. The feeling was good, necessary. He wanted to be opened up by Will, to accommodate him without pause.

The other man’s muscles were twitching, a hand steadied on the side of Frederick’s head. Will’s mouth was on his hair, words gasped out in a tone of shock. “ I--I love you, too.” 

Frederick didn’t need to know why Will hadn’t returned the feelings automatically. He knew they were there, had been lingering below the surface for some time.

He felt it in the way that Will was so careful about this one act, how even when fully sheathed he stilled, tendons quivering and self control slipping. Frederick kissed Will passionately, a hand buried in the soft curls. The feeling of being so full-- of Will’s cock, his tongue, his love--was overwhelming. His hips rocked back, legs hitched on either side of the other man’s sides as poor leverage. 

Another plea was on Frederick’s lips, waiting to be spilled when Will pulled back, finally creating friction between them. The thrusts were slow, deep movements that forced the breath from his lungs, made it hard to keep his eyes open for long. His nails dug into Will’s scalp, toes curled when the shaft rubbed him in just the right spot. They adjusted, one of Frederick’s feet planted on the ground, Will’s arm under his other knee, so the head of Will’s cock repeatedly grazed his prostate. 

Frederick felt like he was losing himself, mind blurry and mouth dry. Will was the only thing tethering him to the present, his cock throbbing inside of him. The sharp jabs tugged him back to a reality of gasping for breath, wasting his air on unintelligible moans. 

The cold left the room, sweat was rolling down the line of Will’s spine, and Frederick began to stroke himself in time to their undulations. He felt encompassed by warmth, filled with a blazing fire. It had melted the tension and bitterness inside of him, a molten heat created by Will’s touch, waiting to erupt. He struggled to continue kissing Will as the pace increased, his body scooting back along the floor with the force of Will’s pelvis pounding against his own. Grunts and desperate whines flowed from his lips to where they had found purchase on Will’s neck, background noise to the slapping of skin and wet sounds.

It was over too soon. Frederick couldn’t contain the pressure that made his balls tighten, caused his muscles to clench spasmodically around Will. He bit down on pale flesh to stifle his cries as semen pumped out of his jerking cock, coating his abdomen. Will sped up and halted abruptly, eyes wide as he gasped his own orgasm.

“ God, Fred…”

“ I love you,” he whispered again, kissed the bite mark he’d left. 

Will caught his breath, pulled out, tied off the condom and returned to the makeshift nest of clothes on the floor. Frederick had yanked down a box of Kleenex to clean himself off with. Together, they moved the snacks and juice to the ground. The booth was mostly quiet now, the songs softly playing underneath the sound of drinking and eating. Frederick felt like he hadn’t eaten in a day, his body was starving.

What had remained of the heat they had created during the sex was fading. One of Will’s arms wrapped around his back, hand rubbing a soothing rhythm against his bare skin. Gooseflesh was raising on his forearms, the top of his thighs. Frederick glanced around the room, not wanting to put his clothes back on, but unable to find a blanket. Maybe they should’ve moved to his office. There was a blanket in there.

“ You mean it?” Will asked around a mouthful of cheese. 

“ Of course.” Frederick didn’t need clarification. He leaned more fully against Will’s chest, loving the safe feeling that encompassed him when Will rested his chin on Frederick’s shoulder. “ I don’t think Baltimore felt like home until you came into this station. It’s like I moved here, but I wasn’t rooted. I’m grounded now, I want to stay with you. You’ve become my foundation and I love that you’ve given me this. I love you.”

Will clasped his hands together on Frederick’s abdomen. The hold wasn’t tight, but it was enough.

“ I mean it too.”

\---

They finished the bottle of sparkling cider that Will had brought over, and most of the cheese and crackers, feeding each other bits and pieces of sausage by the time that Frederick had to resume his position at the chair. Getting dressed wasn’t as off putting as it had seemed thirty minutes ago--Frederick was glad to be warm in his hoodie again. 

While he slipped on headphones and adjusted timing for songs, Will cleaned up what remained of their mess, putting the rest of the snacks on a single plate. Frederick recorded a few segways into commercial breaks and songs. Will left the room and returned with the blanket from his office. He kissed Frederick’s cheek and wrapped the fleece throw about their shoulders, chairs together.

“ Wanna be on air?”

Frederick was going to open the lines in about ten minutes for two consecutive giveaways. He would pose an open question, get callers, and they’d put the funnier response stories on air. There was no harm in Will being heard, not this close to midnight on the holiday. 

“ All right.” Will smiled, a shy reveal of teeth. His lips were still reddened, kiss bitten and swollen. Frederick wanted to take them between his own, to break fragile capillaries below thin tissue, maintain the ruddy color. He focused his line of sight instead on the eyes that avoided his own. Less distracting, still intriguing.

The headphones pushed his Will’s hair into further disarray. Will seemed hesitant, head dipping under the weight. Frederick rubbed the thigh closest to him, now covered in khaki, and flipped the switch. He introduced himself, asked a question about the weirdest appetizers listeners had ever seen at a holiday party, and then turned to look at Will.

“ Tonight, I have a very special guest with me, the--” Frederick was looking at Will while he spoke. The other man shook his head, gave a sheepish grin. He hesitated. Was Will okay with his name being on air? A thumbs up, two nods from his lover. “ Will, a loyal listener.”

“ Thanks, Frederick.” 

His voice sounded better on air. When prompted, Will described a handful of pretentious parties he’d been to throughout the past year. Frederick was laughing at the tale--food made to look like small hands, the oddest flavor profiles arranged with flowers and skulls. They took three calls, gave away concert tickets to each of the callers.

Will’s cheeks were flushed when the switch finally flipped down, the headphones removed from around their skulls. Frederick smoothed down his hair, offered an encouraging smile. 

“ Was I okay?” Will was searching his face, muscles tensed for disapproval that wasn’t going to come. 

“ You were great,” Frederick reassured. He leaned in, kissed Will like he had wanted to for the entire segment. “ But next time you get an invite to one of those dumb parties, I demand to be your plus one.”

Will’s eyes seemed to darken momentarily, but Frederick didn’t think to ask why when he was pressed back to the floor by firm hands. 

\---

“ Your company was sorely missed last week.”

Will had kicked the snow off his boots at the door to Hannibal’s home. The warm air was laced with the fragrant smell of meat, an herby undertone. He hung his overcoat on the rack, followed his psychiatrist to the source of heat and sustenance.

“ There are few places where my presence is truly desired,” he said carefully. Hannibal opened the door to his oven, shifted out a roaster and inhaled. Will rested his hip against the countertop, eyes running over the plated salads. “ I think that I made the best choice for myself.”

Hannibal shut the door carefully and gave Will half a glance before heading to a bottle of wine. “ You have been more confident in your choices lately.”

Deep burgundy poured from the tinted bottle to clear glasses. Will accepted one when it was offered, quick to wet his tongue. It had only been four days since he’d shown up at the station on New Year’s Eve. He had spent all evening, rang in the morning with Frederick. Frederick had driven them back to his apartment, where they slept heavily. Those three words slipped from Will’s lips again before his eyes had shut, once more when they opened the next evening. No hesitation, no regret. He loved Frederick, had found himself so deeply enamoured with the reality that was them-- _together_. 

Frederick had the words where Will could find none. Had worry when nobody else cared for Will, especially not himself. Will found purpose in Frederick, making this city feel like home for the other man. By no means was Will outgoing, the extrovert that would accompany Frederick to all the outings he went to for work, but he could show Frederick the beauties away from skyscrapers and crowds. He could offer his adoration, his love, and apparently that had been enough. 

Will thought that it was the fact that they could be bare around one another. They could love one another without facades and images to maintain, nothing to hide from one another and everything to gain from the freedom that came with their union.

Will thought that Frederick was the healthiest choice he’d made in decades. He was tired of speaking of his accomplishment in vagaries. 

“ I found my anchor. He’s kept my waters still. I feel at peace around him, the best option seems obvious.” Another swallow of wine. Will couldn’t meet Hannibal’s eyes, knew they were on him even with the sound of a knife carving. 

“ He?”

“ A...ah. A lover.” Will cleared his throat.

Hannibal had lowered the knife, transferred cuts of meat from pan to plate. Together, they walked to the dining room. Will carried the wine. 

They settled into chairs, Hannibal at the head and Will to his right. Will smoothed the off white, linen napkin across his thighs and took up fork and knife as Hannibal explained exactly what it was that they were eating. The words didn’t make it farther than the nerves in Will’s inner ear, vibrations left as unanalyzed information while thoughts ran quick and relentless through his head. Had he made a mistake?

When Hannibal began to gather food upon his fork, Will started to eat as well. His mouth was still busy chewing when the psychiatrist spoke next.

“ How long has it been since you last took a lover?” There was no lilt to his voice, no embarrassment, only curiosity, as if Will had been speaking of research he was doing for a new monograph.

Will deliberately brought another piece of meat to his mouth instead of answering. He took his time chewing, focused on the symmetrical patterning of dried leaves, berries, and branches on the slate centerpiece. 

A few moments passed with the sound of chewing before Will got the nerve to respond. “ A while.” _At least a few years._

“ I am certain the physical intimacy provides you with much comfort.” Hannibal appeared nonplussed when Will looked over at him, eyebrows raised. Yes, the older man was a doctor, but this wasn’t exactly appropriate dinner conversation.

“ He makes me feel human. Like a person. Living, breathing, able to induce change, rend emotion.” 

Hannibal’s eyes finally caught Will’s over the rim of his wine glass. “ You have always had those abilities, Will.”

“ I didn’t know I did until he said ‘I love you’.” 

The doctor’s pupils dilated, there was a moment when his careful control waned, knife scraping against ceramic. He returned to eating and Will took a drink of his wine to hide his satisfied smirk. If Jack knew that Hannibal’s therapy hadn’t been the source of his improved mood and worth ethic, Will would be free to leave these sessions behind. He hoped for that to be the case, desperately so. Frederick was to credit for his newfound stability, not the jealous, conceited physician before him . Hannibal had attempted to ground him with clocks and geographical positions, but Frederick was the successful one, with a treatment of reassurance and acceptance, caresses and sincere promises. Will didn’t need anything else.


	6. Sing For Me Now

The rain tried to wash everything away. Frederick had to watch his step when walking into the building each morning, avoiding the long, slimy lengths of worms escaping from their water-logged homes. Rays of sun rarely broke through the clouded landscape, and Frederick wondered if the sunrise had truly gotten earlier as fog swirled around his feet, the darkness of another storm in the heavens.

March was winding down, the last cold fronts retreating from the land. Frederick’s first winter in Baltimore had been miserable--space heaters and blankets that couldn’t warm the chill deep in his bones, lacing through nerves, encasing sinew. He had worn gloves in his apartment, bought more socks than he’d ever dreamed of owning when living in the desert. 

A new year had brought him the warmth he had missed for years. The emptiness was not isolated to a season of snow and ice, but a heat entirely absent from his life, his body numbed to the cold. What Will offered him was felt physically, in the way that his shivers were quelled and teeth ceased to chatter, a visceral chain reaction that lead to an entirely different type of fire kindling in his abdomen. 

Will’s presence went beyond insulation. He was the anchor Frederick had to a life outside of third-shift, and the more comfortable they became around one another, the more Will shared with him. The worries and burdens that Frederick had initially taken responsibility for, insisted that he help with, were upon him. 

Night terrors, Frederick had decided early on, were the least of his concerns. 

\---

Mere weeks after their coupling on the floor of the booth, the Ripper had put a new tableau on display. Frederick didn’t see Will for a few days. Guiltily, he had checked Tattlecrime.com for updates on the case. They never made any headway on finding the serial murderer, Will had told him as they drove to Wolf Trap. The young woman’s family, and Frederick felt his heart wrench at the way that the other man’s jaw clenched, nostrils flared with emotion as he spoke, would never receive justice. Frederick felt that the words hadn’t been ones that Will told himself, but a line implanted into his mind by someone else.

Will became despondent, resisting touch and words. He simply existed, and Frederick couldn’t help him, aside from being a constant in the profiler’s life. For a week, he stayed in Wolf Trap. After his initial day off, he called in sick, used up a week of vacation to make sure that Will ate three meals and went outside with the dogs, feel the weather on his skin. Will rarely slept.

Jack, Will’s boss, called every day. Will ignored the calls, and there was nothing that Frederick could do but listen as the call went to voicemail. The last thing that the other man needed was to go back into the lab or out in the field.

On the third day, he explained through gritted teeth that Will wasn’t fit to return to work. Understanding was dawning on him. Will didn’t want to be seen this way. Somehow, he had managed this on his own before. Letting Frederick take care of him was a large step.

Thursday night, Will reached for Frederick’s hand as they sat on the sofa. He asked what was for dinner.

When Frederick woke the following morning, he didn’t see Will in his line of vision--the couch where had spent most of his time in the preceding days. The rest of the room was empty, and Frederick felt terror rising under his skin as he took quick steps to a similarly deserted bathroom, a bare kitchen. His skin was itching, throat tightening.

A dog barked from outside. Frederick felt the flow of blood in his arteries slowing, the roar of oxygenated cells rushing to his brain and muscles dulling to a gentle throb.

He found Will on the porch in an old, flannel bath robe with a cup of coffee, watching the dogs run around, like nothing had happened. Like he hadn’t spent the last five nights screaming in his few hours of sleep, the previous six days mute and unapproachable.

Will smiled at him. Frederick was angry, he was relieved, and he was confused. He wanted to understand, to be able to help Will. Suddenly, whatever had been plaguing Will’s mind was gone, and there was nothing to discuss. 

The other man asked Frederick how he’d slept, kissed his cheek, and went inside to cook breakfast.

For the next ten minutes, Frederick was the one that sat speechless, eyes glazed over.

A plate was put in front of him, a steaming mass of egg with bright red, chopped bell peppers and a slice of toast. They ate in silence until the questions swirling in his mind became too much for him to bear. 

“ I need you to talk to me,” Frederick started. He took another bite of scrambled eggs. Will wouldn’t meet his eyes. “ When you do that, when somethings wrong. I can’t help you. I don’t know what to do. Your boss called, and I--I told him you couldn’t come in. You have to tell me what to do, what you need from me. ” 

Frederick was at a loss for words. He had been scared. What if the case had broken Will? There was something on Tattlecrime.com about him seeing a psychiatrist--and where was that psychiatrist now?

“ Your doctor--Lecter? Should I have called him? Will, I didn’t know wh--”

“ No.”

Will looked up now. His pupils were constricted, jaw clenched, knuckles white around his fork. He let out a long breath. “ He hasn’t done shit for me. You have. I see him because the FBI wants it on file that I’m seeing someone, but you should be getting paid, accredited.”

Frederick leaned back in his chair as Will snorted a laugh, softly shaking his head. The profiler narrowed his eyes, glanced out the window. He licked his lips and turned back to Frederick.

“ How long ago did we come home?” Uncertain, blue eyes, were boring into him.

“ About a week.” 

Guilt lurched in Frederick’s stomach at his admittance. He should’ve been able to deal with this better--what kind of partner was he?

“ See, Jack’ll be surprised when I come in to lecture on Monday. You’re better than any of the bullshit _coping techniques_ Hannibal taught me.” 

Will had returned his gaze to the food. He had the remnants of a wry smile on his lips, amused at what he had suggested. Frederick put down his fork, lowered his hands to his thighs. He rubbed them, kept the cold at bay, fear still on his mind. For nearly a week, he’d been terrified that he had made all the wrong decisions--not to be with Will, but how to care for him. His muscles were still tense, afraid of something new going wrong, that Will would retreat again.

“ Please,” he croaked as Will got up to take their plates to the sink. “ Tell me something, anything. I didn’t know what to do.”

The water was running, but there was no clatter of dishes being cleaned. A hand touched Frederick’s cheek, shifted to his neck. “ I don’t know what to say, Fred.”

“ Why the fuck not?” He leaned into the touch, had missed the feeling of callouses against his skin. There were tears stinging his eyes, unshed after days of high adrenaline. “ I’m sorry. I just want to help, I love you.”

Will kneeled at his side, fingers brushing away tears, lips brushing against his own. “ I love you too. I should’ve told you earlier, and I’m sorry. I’m not used to having anybody.” The mouth was pressed more firmly against Frederick’s. They parted, and Will met his gaze. “ Thank you. For staying so long, being here. You’re…” 

Frederick watched Will shake his head, smile. They kissed again, and he could taste his own tears. 

“ I’m not used to it either. It’s okay.” 

As they finished doing the dishes together, Frederick prayed that the Ripper would stop leaving his kills for Will to look at.

\---

Frederick had a drawer at Will’s house, and vice versa. On his days off, Frederick could be found in Virginia, walking dogs at the crack of dawn and occasionally attempting to fish. He mostly caught waterlogged branches or managed to snare his hook in the rocks. Will more than made up for his deficit.

The latest case that Will had been pulled into had been the work of someone new. It was a necessary break from the frustrating dead ends left by the Ripper. Frederick had sighed in relief when Will vaguely gave him information about the murder. 

It took two days to track down the killer, a young man with a god complex and limited medical training. Will wasn’t able to divulge all the details, but invited Frederick out for celebratory drinks with the rest of the forensics team.

They met at a small pub with a nondescript exterior near Quantico. Inside, the atmosphere was somber. Frederick had the feeling that a lot of FBI agents ended up drinking away the harder aspects of their jobs at the bar. He found Will at a large table to the side of the room. There was two other men, one talking animatedly and the other rolling his eyes, and a woman who was barely stifling laughter. Will was smiling, not with his teeth, but the tension that Frederick was so used to seeing writ across his face was visibly absent. 

Frederick wanted nothing more than to kiss him, relish in the moment of relief, enjoy this reprieve. 

Instead, he ran a hand through his hair, straightened his jacket, and tried to keep his pace normal on the way to the others.

Will caught sight of him halfway there, pushed out of his seat so hard that the legs squealed against the hardwood before they tipped back, and the chair fell over. The woman began to laugh, patted Will’s forearm. Frederick reached them and picked the chair back up.

“ Hey,” Will greeted. There was a blush high on his cheeks, and Frederick was reminded of their first meeting. Renewed attraction and adoration washed over him. He couldn’t stop the smile from spreading across his face, the hand that reached out to take Will’s. 

“ Hey,” he returned, eyes solely focused on the man before him. 

Someone cleared their throat, and Frederick’s smile faltered momentarily. He turned to acknowledge everyone else. “ I’m Frederick.”

“ We know,” the woman said, a devious glint in her eyes.

The two of them sat down, and Frederick straightened his clothing again. Although he had begged to meet Will’s co workers before, the anxiety had only set in an hour prior to leaving his apartment. What if they looked down on him, his profession? Frederick had dressed in his nicest slacks and button down, wore a sports jacket and everything before realizing that Will had invited him to a _pub_ not an event. Still, he had changed outfits at least four more times before deciding on jeans and a blue sweater. Now, he just needed to make a good impression. 

Will introduced him to everyone, Beverly specialized in fibers, Brian had an MD, and Jimmy was the encyclopaedia of the bunch. The trio seemed tightly knit, with Will on the outskirts of their group. 

“ No shop talk,” Brian insisted, when they had finished chatting about their individual work.

Jimmy nodded, and looked about distractedly. “ Where the hell is Jack, anyways? He went to go get drinks ten minutes ago.”

Frederick perked up at the name. The man he’d spoken to on the phone, Will’s boss, was here. He was afraid that he’d already made a fool of himself by snapping about Will’s condition, when he had been worn thin and exhausted. 

Both Brian and Jimmy went to find Jack. Beverly’s grin reappeared, an impish look of glee on her face. “ You know, I’ve been trying to get Will to bring you out with us since last year. He doesn’t tell us anything.”

Will leaned back in his chair, set his mouth in a hard line. “ Had to make sure he would stick around before you guys tried to scare him away.”

Beverly pouted as Frederick laughed. “ I’m really happy to meet you guys. Working the night shift, I don’t really have too many of my own co workers.” 

“ See, he likes us already!” 

Will huffed, and Frederick didn’t have much time to think about whether it was actual exasperation, or amusement. Pitchers of pale ale and dark lagers were set on the table, one sloshing over. Jimmy set down a stack of glasses. Frederick’s stomach dropped when he met the gaze of Jack. The man was towering, formidable. He felt his throat click when as he stuck out his hand.

“ Frederick. We talked before, on the phone.” An apology almost slipped past his lips, but the radio personality stood his ground. It was understandable why his tone had been sharp in that situation.

Jack took his hand. Their joined grip was firm, and Frederick shook it once. The older man smiled toothily. “ Jack. It’s nice to finally meet you in person.”

When everyone was seated once more, drinks poured and passed about, Will’s hand settled on Frederick’s knee. The digits squeezed and rubbed as Frederick began to drink, and he felt his fear disappearing. Conversation became easy, what with the weather constantly shifting and Frederick’s endless tales of the often suspicious callers he received during his shift. Will had been an anomaly.

He was listening intently to Jimmy describing the mating patterns of the squirrels that woke Frederick by running along his windowsill each afternoon when Will’s hand suddenly withdrew. Frederick turned to look at the other man, saw the dilation of his pupils, the way his jaw clenched. Following his line of sight, Frederick watched as a rather peculiarly dressed man approached their group.

His dirty blond hair was slicked back and the angles of his face were sharp, aristocratic. The real oddity was his clothing, a three piece suit of dark plaid with a paisley tie in red and gold. The fabric was tailored and fit him well, but Frederick couldn’t take his eyes away from the strange, intimidating man.

“ Hannibal!” Jack rose from the table, clasped one of the man’s hands with both of his own. 

Will’s psychiatrist. The doctor that his lover seemed so eager to get away from, the one that was supposed to help him. Frederick didn’t know how to react, torn between looking at the man that was now walking in his direction, or Will, whose fists were balled and breathing was shallow. 

He had no choice when a hand was offered. Frederick stood, unsure of why he felt so nervous. The psychiatrist had never met him, they had no previous interactions, and yet this introduction felt more ominous than the previous one with Jack. 

“ This is Dr. Hannibal Lecter,” came Jack’s voice as their hands shook. Hannibal had a half smile on his face. “ He helped Will with the psychological profile on this case.”

“ Frederick Chilton. Will’s, uhm.” They hadn’t talked about titles or names. It wasn’t important, at least it hadn’t been at the time. The digits slipped from his grip, and he looked down at Will, who kept his gaze trained on his own thighs. “ Will’s companion.”

Hannibal inclined his head minutely, clapped a hand to Will’s shoulder. When he spoke, his accent was thick. “ Will has spoken highly of you.”

Frederick had a feeling that there were words left unsaid on the doctor’s tongue. Will got up to get a whiskey, and returned once conversation had resumed.

Apart from the initial tension, an hour passed with easy discussion. Most of it was split, jokes and teasing on one side, intellectual discourse on the other. Frederick shied away from where Jack and Hannibal spoke softly about publications and manuscripts, to his comfort zone.

With the forensics team, he felt comfortable and confident. The smiles came easily, and he even got a few laughs out of Will. 

As the evening winded down, Will asked if Frederick wanted to come back and spent the night in Wolf Trap. It really wasn’t even a question, and they all parted with smiles and promises to get together again soon.

Frederick shook Hannibal’s hand again as he left. As he trailed behind Will’s car on the interstate, he wished that he hadn’t. He couldn’t stop thinking about how much Will was clearly resisting the doctor’s treatment, yet Hannibal had touched the man’s shoulder.

When he was bombarded by tails and thick fur coats rubbing against him, the thoughts were blessedly washed away. The dogs cleared, and Will took his face in both hands, kissing him hard. They stumbled back across the living room, to the mattress in the corner. 

Will’s hands were nimble, quickly shedding Frederick’s coat and sweater, rubbing up and down his sides before heading down to the front of his jeans. Frederick felt like he had whiplash, his brain couldn’t keep up. He gently broke their kiss, shifted to be lying fully on the bed. 

“ What’s between you and the doctor?” He tried not to sound accusatory. Whatever it was, Will clearly wasn’t interested. 

Will sat back on his haunches, frowned. He opened his mouth and closed it again. “ He’s not going to help me. I don’t think he’s trying to. There’s something _off_ about his goals.”

Frederick nodded slowly, even though he didn’t understand, not entirely. “ I don’t like him.”

This time, Will laughed. It was a sharp, harsh sound that brought a soft smile to Frederick’s lips. He leaned in, kissed the other man again.

“ I don’t like him either,” Will murmured against his mouth. They deepened the kiss with tongue, and Frederick pushed Will onto his back. 

He nipped along the profiler’s stubbled jaw, left a suck mark against the side of his neck. Will was shuffling out of his shoes and socks, pushing his pants off. Frederick sat up to do the same, so that their flesh could lay bare against one another. He took a moment to take in all of Will. His curls framing wide blue eyes and flushed cheeks, the pale line of his neck with one reddened circle, down the muscles of his chest and abdomen to where his cock was rapidly stiffening, the pink tip settling just above the thatch of dark hair. 

Frederick licked his lips before he descended onto Will again, going straight for his erection. He spat on his hand and gave it a few strokes, nosing into the thin skin around his right hip bone. Will thrust up into the fist, gave a low groan. One hand buried itself into Frederick’s hair, pulling it into disarray. 

“ You’re mine,” Frederick said against Will’s flesh before he set teeth to it, his grip tightening and thumb swiping over Will’s slit. He sucked another, darker mark onto Will’s hip. When he looked up to the other man’s face, Will was nodding.

“ All yours.”

Will’s hand tightened in his hair when Frederick lowered his head over the man’s length. He worked to open his throat, swallowing around the glans. His breathing was sharp through his nose, gag reflex momentarily suppressed. Will’s gasps were enough to motivate him, and he could hear the other hand grasping at the sheets desperately. Frederick bobbed his head, sucked greedily at the salty fluid that began to leak from Will’s cock.

He was licking up the underside, hand gently fondling the other man’s balls when the digits tangled in his hair pulled him back. Frederick looked up at Will, thick saliva still connecting his lips the other man.

“ Shit,” Will breathed, smoothing his palm over Frederick’s hair. “ Let me fuck you, please, Fred.”

Frederick smiled, allowed more spit to drip onto Will’s erection. He rolled away to the nightstand, grabbed the lube, and wasted no time in pouring it onto his fingertips. The first finger he pushed in himself made him grimace, the second taken with more ease. Frederick was half bent over, arm contorted behind his back to spread himself open. Not that he didn’t love when Will carefully stretched him, took time and care in the act, but he _needed_ this. He craved the feeling of a body pressed flushed to his own, the comforting knowledge that Will desired him, truly. Hannibal Lecter would never have this.

With three, he could brush against his prostate. Frederick laid the side of his face on the mattress, making eye contact with Will before he let a moan out, grinding back onto his own hand.

“ You done?” Will was impatient, stroking his own cock slowly. Frederick laughed breathlessly, the action driving his fingers in farther. “ Tease,” Will said grumpily. He got onto his knees behind Frederick and swatted at the wrist in his way.

“ You love it,” Frederick whimpered, his haughtiness disappearing as Will’s dick rubbed along the line of his ass, head catching on the rim of his hole. He pressed his body back, but without purchase. “ C’mon, it’s only fun if one of us is an asshole.”

Will chuckled and began to kiss the line of Frederick’s spine, hands gripping the small of his back. His cock was pressing in, slowly, drawing small huffs of air from both of them. Frederick’s hips were held in place, he couldn’t move back against the hard shaft that was pushing him open, even if he wanted to. He shifted his weight onto his right hand, used the left to touch himself.

“ ‘M gonna cum before you even get inside, old man,” Frederick goaded. He was panting, still uselessly canting his ass backwards. “ Fuck me, Will.”

The next time Frederick pressed against Will, the hands were gone. All air left his body in a helpless cry, the other man’s cock bottoming out inside of him suddenly. His muscles twitched, the sting spreading across his sacrum. It was a momentary pain, lessened by calloused fingers reaching around to help him maintain his erection and hips that began a steady rhythm. The friction made him delirious, white popping behind his eyes with each thrust that brushed his prostate.

“ You’re mine, too,” Will growled against his shoulder blade, kissing and nipping at the skin. “ I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Frederick was smiling again. Another moan rippled out from his belly when Will squeezed the base of his cock. “ I know, my big, strong man of the law.” 

Will easily wrung Frederick’s orgasm from his body. He knew exactly where to thrust, how fast, and the right way to flick his wrist when stroking his straining cock. It was over in minutes, Frederick’s final moans punctuated by the deep shove of Will’s pelvis against his ass. The profiler stilled, rolling his hips and sighing through his own orgasm. 

They slumped to the mattress, Will slowly pulling out. Frederick could feel cum leaking out of him. This was the first time they hadn’t used a condom, and he found that it didn’t bother him at all. Will had marked him as his own.

The other man was coming to the same realization. “ Oh, god,” he breathed, hopping up to get a towel. Will returned with his flaccid member cleaned off, and began to wipe down Frederick’s thighs. “ I...I don’t know what got into me, fuck. I’m so--”

“ Don’t. I love you. It’s okay.” Frederick grabbed his wrist, kissed his forearm. “ I like it.”

Will shifted and began to clear the cum from Frederick’s chest. “ I love you too. I meant everything I said.”

The declaration didn’t surprise him. Frederick had seen some of the guns hidden around Will’s house. As he settled into the comfort of Will’s arms for sleep, he thought again of how the doctor had looked at Will. There was something wrong there, but Will had just reasserted his feelings for Frederick. 

They would be fine.

\---

Frederick folded up his umbrella as he walked inside, shook it through the open door to remove as much excess water as he could. He had still managed to get wet, the rain was coming down nearly horizontal. 

The elevators were blowing cool air over his damp clothing, chilling him further. In his office, Frederick stripped off his sweater and undershirt in favor of the hoodie that was laid across the back of his chair. It was pleasantly dry and smelled vaguely of motor oil.

Donald had apparently cleared out of the booth early. Frederick settled down and opened his e-mail out of habit. He and Will texted now, occasionally talked on the phone when he had the time. There was no need for e-mails. 

A familiar subject caught his eye amidst spam. _**Hello**_

Frederick opened the message. He scanned the words, feeling the hairs on the back of his neck rising, his hand beginning to shake on the mouse. 

_Frederick,_

_I can’t say that I enjoy your radio show. The old host in this time slot offered more. Perhaps it’s time that he returned._

_Sincerely,_   
_The Chesapeake Ripper_

He fumbled with his phone, joints paralyzed with fear. The speed dial wasn’t fast enough, the ringing in his ears too loud. 

“ Frederick?” Will sounded like he had actually been sleeping.

“ Will,” Frederick’s voice was barely above a whisper, as if somehow, the serial killer that had been plaguing Will for months could hear him. “ It’s the Ripper. He e-mailed me. He wants me dead.”

The call disconnected.


	7. Fare Thee Well

There was a blanket, heavy and warm, laid across Frederick’s shoulders. The hem pressed heavy against the nape of his neck.

“ Where’s Will?”

A paramedic, the same female who had put the shock blanket on him earlier, sat next to him. They were in the break room. The police--or FBI, he hadn’t been told--had ushered him out of the booth. When they asked him any questions, he only had another question in response. Where was Will? 

“ He’s on his way, Frederick.” The woman didn’t touch him, but offered a small smile.

In one hand, Frederick clutched the corners of the blanket together atop his chest. He pulled it closer around himself, feeling a sob at the back of his throat. When the call had disconnected, Frederick tried to call Will back. Each attempt was met with voicemail. He needed more than the scratchy fabric, he wanted the worn cotton and flannel that Will wore, to press his nose against plaid that smelled of dog and familiar aftershave.

“ How do you know?” Frederick looked up as the paramedic was leaving. She stopped and smiled again, but it faltered. “ He won’t answer my calls. Has he talked to you?”

“ I’m sorry. I don’t have anymore information.”

He nodded. The fear clouded his mind, making it hard to consider doing anything beyond waiting for Will to show. 

The Chesapeake Ripper had e-mailed him and implied a desire for his death. Will had immediately hung up on him once the words had passed his lips. Half an hour later, police and emergency response teams were coming out of the elevator, up the stairs, evacuating all of the other employees. 

Frederick was to stay put. They had questions for him, ones that he couldn’t answer even if Will was there to hold his hand and ground him in the present, to take his mind away from the bloody photos he’d seen on Tattlecrime, the descriptions of victims in black text, and Will’s solemn voice explaining that they’d yet again failed to catch the Ripper.

Would he be the next victim?

“ Frederick.” It was a plea, not a greeting. His name had been said before, at least twice. 

He opened his eyes and smiled weakly at the bespectacled man, curls matted down on one side and his cheeks flushed with color. A hand was in his hair, brushing back through the locks to cradle the base of his head. Frederick leaned into the palm, and the rest of the movements came suddenly, biceps pressed firmly against his shoulders, the nudging of a nose against the join of neck and shoulder, and hands that securely gripped the small of his back.

“ I’m so sorry,” Frederick gasped, trying hard not to cry. He gripped Will’s shoulders with a similar strength. 

“ For what? God, Fred, I was so worried. I tried to get here as fast as possible.” 

It didn’t matter how long it had taken, not now. “ I don’t want him to come after you, I don’t want you to get hurt, please.”

Will pulled back a bit, carded his fingers through Frederick’s hair. “ You’re the top priority. Not me, I can take care of myself. Jack wanted me to stop at Quantico before we headed here. You’ll have guards, at work, at home. You should take time off.” 

“ Can’t I just stay with you, then?” Frederick was desperate. He needed to be near Will, especially now. He trusted him, but wanted to make sure that Will was safe too. “ You could protect me, right? Or we could have a guard in Virginia, too. I just don’t want you on this case. Are you even allowed to work it?”

The room was suddenly much colder, despite the warmth emanating off of Will and the large blanket around him. Will leaned in, and they kissed. Frederick could hear the paramedic shifting away from them, but he couldn’t bring himself care. His usual need to keep up appearances had faded away the moment that they’d sat him down on the hard plastic chair. He needed Will near him.

“ I have to catch him,” Will whispered against his lips. “ He threatened you, Frederick. I love you. I’m going to find him, I swear.”

They kissed again, and it was a slower thing. He heard the door to the break room shut. When Will broke away, Frederick got a good look at the bags beneath his eyes, the skin pulled taut over the bones of his skull. Will looked exhausted. 

“ I’m going to go see what Jack has found, okay?” Will waited for Frederick to nod before disentangling himself and standing. 

As he watched Will leave the room, the bright fluorescence casting shadows across the tiled floor, Frederick was reminded of their second date together. The lighting had been bright that morning as well, highlighting the blues in Will’s eyes as Frederick kissed the hint of chocolate from his lips. A new sob tightened in his abdomen, sadness gripping his bones. This whole situation felt _wrong_. He had never wanted this for himself, for Will.

\---

“ You shouldn’t be here.”

Will ignored Beverly. Her words were nearly a hiss, a warning. He knew what she, and the rest of the forensics team thought. Jack, however, was convinced that Will would gain some sort of insight from a few short sentences. The printed e-mail was laid in front of him, pictures of the last victim stacked haphazardly on the corner of the workspace.

A trace had found nothing. The e-mail address was a disposable, one-use proxy with a meaningless handle. All that was left were words, characters printed in a dark black against the stark white of computer paper. The glare was beginning to give Will a headache.

“ What about Frederick? Why don’t you go home to him? He needs you more than Jack does, and you know it.”

Beverly was the only one who said anything to his face. Will knew she was right, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave the lab. He hadn’t left Quantico for almost three days, despite his promise to Frederick.

_” You’re fucking kidding me, Will.” Frederick had tears in his eyes again. It was understandable why he was so shaken up, it had been less than a day since they returned to his apartment in Baltimore together, but Will felt guilty every time that he saw the other man on the verge of crying._

_”Just a day,” he swore, running a hand over Frederick’s bearded jaw. “ Jack might have something. I have to do everything I can to keep you safe.”_

_Frederick slowly sat on the couch in the front room of his apartment, a deep sadness writ across his face. “ I’m safe with you here.”_

_” I’ll be back tomorrow night, okay? The guards are here and there’s plenty of food. I love you, Frederick.”_

_When Frederick finally nodded, short and quick, Will kissed him deeply._

_” Tomorrow,” Frederick echoed as Will walked out._

And now it was two days later, the sun setting. Will let his cellphone die, didn’t pick up the phone in his office. He wouldn’t dare check his e-mail, although he was sure that Frederick would shy away from that method of contact. Beverly called Frederick, and Will was aware of it, but he couldn’t bring himself to talk to the man he loved so dearly.

He knew what their next conversation would be, and he couldn’t bare to whisper more promises and reassurances to Frederick beforehand. 

Will also knew that Beverly was right. He couldn’t hide here forever, because the Ripper was still out there, and Frederick needed to be protected from every access point. The biggest, at the moment, was Will himself. He was attached to the radio personality, invested. Of course serial killers would go after the one person he had found comfort in, solace enough to murmur his secret fears in the night, a man that had provided him a safe place to lay his head to rest. Without Frederick, he was the unstable man that grasped at visions of gore and viscera, plagued and hindered by his nightmares. Alone, Will was vulnerable, and his work was clumsy.

The threat of returning to that state of mind terrified Will, but there was too much at stake. He couldn’t allow Frederick to get hurt, not on his account.

He crumpled up the e-mail as Beverly walked by the desk again, mouth opened to berate him.

“ I’m leaving.” Will gathered his jacket from the back of the chair.

Beverly handed him an umbrella before he could leave. “ The storm is pretty bad. Be careful. Don’t do anything reckless.”

After managing a half smile, Will allowed his mouth to set into a hard line. He wasn’t being reckless, he was being careful. This is what you did for people you love. 

\---

The rain came down in sheets. Will’s windshield wipers were on the highest setting and he drove well below the speed limit. As the journey went on, the nausea in his stomach multiplied. 

He knew that this was the right decision. There was no alternative, none that would keep Frederick entirely out of harm’s way. 

Will allowed the car to idle in the parking lot for ten minutes. He didn’t know what to say, how to do this with minimum damage. There had never been a previous situation like this in Will’s life. Only one night stands or relationships that ended before they began, and typically not on his own terms. He wracked his brain, trying to think of the soft spoken let-downs he had received over coffee or standing at an awkward distance from the other person.

In the end, Will knew he would never be able to find the right words for this conversation. Frederick had given him more than he could have ever hoped for, loved him fully, and Will had only offered death. 

It was two minutes to get inside the apartment building, another minute up the old, creaking elevator. On the fifth floor, Will’s legs moved with muscle memory. To warmth, to love, to Frederick, to home.

After exchanging a greeting with one of the guards, Will knocked on the door. His throat was constricting, the muscles in his neck flexed tightly to keep the words at bay.

Frederick opened the door wordlessly. When it shut, he finally looked at Will. 

“ Three fucking days.”

“ I’m sorry.” There was no use in lying, saying that more information was to be analyzed. Not when Beverly had spoken to Frederick at least twice.

Will watched as Frederick moved to the kitchen table, sat in a chair. His skin was sallow, and there were bags under his eyes. Frederick was wearing himself out. 

“ Why didn’t you call me?” 

“ I just… I couldn’t do it. I was trying to detach, look at the information objectively.”

“ Bullshit!” Frederick had tears in his eyes again. “ You’ve never been able to look at any crime scene without emotion. Why would this be any different?”

Will opened his mouth, closed it again. Slowly, he sat down opposite of the other man. He didn’t have any arguments, and this wasn’t one of his conversations with Hannibal. There were no mind games to be played, only the truth laid between them. He worked his jaw, swallowed the sting in his own eyes after pressing the heels of his palms to them. 

Somehow, his intentions had been entirely clear to Frederick. 

“ Don’t you do this to me, Will Graham.” 

Frederick’s nostrils were flared. Will stared harder at the kitchen tile. There was a dust bunny near the leg of his chair. 

“ It’s not fair to you, Fred,” he whispered.

A hand shot out, grabbed Will’s. The digits interlaced with his, squeezed. It was a desperate grasp, as if Will was to sleep beneath the surface of an ocean. Will felt as if his lungs were filling with water. Tears were freely flowing down his cheeks, beneath the rims of his glasses to wet his lips.

“ Leaving me isn’t fair.” Frederick’s words rushed out on a puff of air, broken between a half-sob. He was gasping for air. Will looked up, because he had to make sure the other knew that this wasn’t a malicious deed. It was for him.

Their eyes, both reddened, met. Will tried to smile, but it trembled, lopsided. “ I love you. I have to protect you, I’m sorry. The Ripper wants me, he’ll do whatever he can to fuck with me or with Jack. I can’t let you be the next Miriam, Frederick. You’re not gonna be my bait.”

Will forced himself to stand up, to detach. He had to leave. The apartment smelled too much like afternoon naps and lazy morning sex, the spices that Frederick cooked with while warm sunlight filtered in through the gauzey curtains. It curled around his waist, beckoning him to fall into Frederick’s arms, to fuck him until they both forgot anything that the Chesapeake Ripper had ever done. 

“ You can’t fucking say you love me and just leave!” Frederick had started to cry harder. His hair was coming loose from product, dark eyes fierce with passion-filled anger. 

“ I have to. I love you, Fred. The guards are going stay here until further notice, okay?”

Will walked to the door, grabbed his umbrella from where it leaned against the wall. He wasn’t going to turn around. 

The door closed behind Will just as it had been opened for him--silently. He took the stairs down, to feel the movement of his own muscles. On his way out, he had no word for the guards, too afraid to open his mouth without crying. Will kept his head down, and opened the umbrella against the rain.

“ Fuck you, Will!” 

Frederick was running after him, into the downpour. He was in a white t-shirt and Will’s flannel pajama pants. There were no shoes or socks on his feet. 

“ You can’t fucking leave me!” Frederick was shouting over the sound of the weather, his voice hoarse. “ Somebody wants to kill me, and now you leave! I love you, Will, don’t do this to me.”

Will wanted to stay stalwart in his path, walk unaltered to his car and drive away. Drive to the property he owned in Wolf Trap, to drink until he was numb, because he’d left his home in Baltimore. But Frederick was soaked to the bone, his tears coming as hard and fast as the rain, his words gone soft and vulnerable.

He walked back, put his umbrella over the two of them. Will leaned in, kissed Frederick hard. His own body was shaking with a sob, because this was the last time. Frederick gripped his waist. Will pried the fingers from himself, pecked the other man’s lips once more, before he pulled away. He wrapped Frederick’s fingers around the handle of the umbrella, and smiled weakly. 

“ I love you, too.” When Will was sure that the guards had made their presence known to Frederick, and were trying to escort him back inside, he went to his car. 

As he drove away, water dripping from his hair to his lap, jaw shaking not just from the cold and wet, but from the loneliness that had begun to surround him, Will watched the shape of Frederick holding onto the umbrella shrink in the rearview mirror. He thought of the other man’s large hands clenched around the handle, skin stretched white across his knuckles. Frederick was beautiful, even in tragedy.

Will wanted nothing more than to be the one leading Frederick inside, to draw a warm bath for the two of them and bring heat back into their bodies. He wanted to wake up the next day with his arm draped around the other man’s waist, listen to the soft rumblings of his snores.

The rain slowed to a drizzle, and then to a mist as he entered Virginia. Will had abandoned the man he loved, left him to wait out a raging storm, in order to save him. His stomach was in knots, throat dry and eyes sore. He longed for much more than a drink. 

White slatted walls appeared out of the fog, the light on his porch still partially obscured. Will parked the car, but couldn’t get himself to turn off his headlights, to stop the rhythm of the windshield wipers. He couldn’t leave the confines of the vehicle, because when he entered the house, everything would become real. The car was a limbo, purgatory. Inside, the dogs would be waiting, but so would the drawer of clothes that Frederick had left, the leftover pancakes that they had cooked together. Inside was only isolation. In the car, there was still a choice--Will could turn back.

He could take back everything, promise to never leave Frederick again, to spend the rest of their days together. Will could protect Frederick, sure, even if he’d never catch the Ripper. They could move far away, and leave the FBI behind. Will had enough savings, he could manage it.

But he knew that the Ripper would only go on killing. He knew that when the next victim turned up, Jack would hunt him down, request his help in a booming voice that offered only one option. 

Truly, Will knew that there was a singular choice. He couldn’t ask Frederick to go into hiding with him and he couldn’t let a serial killer run rampant. To save the man he loved, Will had to leave him. To catch the Ripper, Will couldn’t have any attachments. It was too dangerous.

Tears had begun to fall from Will’s eyes again. He hated himself for being involved with the FBI, for dragging Frederick down with him, only to leave him crying in the rain. At least Will had a purpose, an end goal to reach for. He had left Frederick with nothing, nowhere to go, no work to throw himself into. He would be kept alone at home until Will, or someone from the bureau, determined it was safe for him to return to work with a guard. Will needed to find the Ripper, so he could give Frederick back his life. 

Will watched as small droplets of water condensed onto the driver’s side window, gathered into larger spheres that rolled downwards. He felt terribly helpless, and absolutely awful about his sorry excuse for a life. In a brief moment of weakness, a scream sounded from his throat, ripped from his vocal cords. His fists crashed into the dashboard and steering wheel, boots kicking at the floor. 

He cried himself dry, painful tremors shaking his abdomen. The dogs could be heard now; they had heard the engine cut out, saw the lights that had been still for half an hour. Will was starting to get cold. Part of him wanted to punish himself by staying out in the rapidly cooling vehicle, but there were still lives that depended on him.

Winston licked his fingers, headbutted his shins. Maggie hopped to the arm of the sofa to be level with his elbow and nipped hopefully at the fabric of his jacket as he walked past. Will fed the dogs and got himself the bottle of whiskey. It was the cheapest liquor he had, burned the most going down. 

Frederick had always hated Will drinking. Tonight, Will found it easy to be the person that Frederick hated.

\---

There was a buzzing, and then the blaring of an alarm.

Will hadn’t set an alarm. His head was throbbing, but that was nothing new. There was some sunlight that made its way through the crack of his black-out curtains, and he sat up into it. Buster was licking his toes. 

He snapped his fingers until the dog left him. Will found it difficult to shift away from the sunlight--his legs felt like lead. 

The sound was still bouncing off the walls, echoing loudly in the hollows of Will’s skull. He reached to the source of it, found his phone. It was ringing. Someone was calling him.

“ Graham.” It was probably Jack. Hopefully there was new information.

“ Will, this is Alana. I’ve tried to call you for the last four days.” Her voice was strained with worry, and Will frowned. He stopped answering calls, afraid of Frederick’s words, the lilt of his tongue. Their relationship had been built on messages, and his voicemail was full of them. Will couldn’t listen to them.

“ You didn’t show up for your appointment with Hannibal yesterday. Beverly told me what happened. You need to talk to someone.” 

Will would have rolled his eyes if his head didn’t hurt so much, vision blurred and ocular muscles sore. “ I need to catch the Ripper.”

“ Well you can’t do that if you’re too busy being a drunk.” 

He could see in his mind the flaring of her nostrils, bright eyes alight with reserved fury. “ I can handle my alcohol, Alana. Thanks for calling, though.”

There was a laugh on the other end of the line. “ Not this time, Will.”

The call disconnected and Will stared blearily at the dimmed screen of his phone, confused. There were unread messages, missed calls, and voicemails at the top. He knew who they were from. 

Someone knocked at his door.

“ Seriously?” Will realized for the first time that he had apparently fallen asleep on the floor near the dogs. Buster had been licking his toes because they were in his fleece-lined bed, and his legs were asleep because Shiba had laid her entire weight across his calves. He pushed himself up, straightened the black hoodie that he should have left at Frederick’s apartment. His jeans had been uncomfortably pressed against his hips, and a stain had dried hard on the left knee.

Outside was Alana, who didn’t hesitate to push past Will. She had grocery bags in her arms, a royal blue coat cinched tightly around her waist. 

“ Alana, really?” Will hugged himself, feeling vulnerable. The drink had made him slow, allowed his emotions leak out across the hardwood floor. 

She turned on him, small smile filled simultaneously with concern and anger. “ I have called you every day since Monday. You broke up with your long term boyfriend after the serial killer you’re trying to catch threatened to murder him. Since then, you haven’t gone to work, to any of your appointments, and this whole place smells of alcohol. Tell me I’m not justified in being here.”

Will stared at Winston’s tail as it wagged back and forth, because he couldn’t meet Alana’s eyes. He couldn’t deny the truths she told and didn’t want to humor her challenge. 

“ Please go see Hannibal. He’s helped you before, and you need it now. Talk to someone, please.”

Alana had seated herself in one of his armchairs, legs crossed primly. Will settled into the sofa. He rubbed at his face, trying to wipe away the physical and emotional exhaustion.

“ I’m not interested in therapy with Hannibal Lecter.”

She leaned forward, shortening the distance between them. Her voice lowered in pitch and volume. “ You don’t have a choice. Jack’s going to remove you from the case. There is an appointment scheduled for you next Monday, at four in the afternoon.” 

Will felt that someone had punched the air out of him. He had to be on the case, needed the information. He had to find the Ripper. But Hannibal was the last person he wanted to see, with that crooked smile that would inevitably flicker across his face as they spoke of Will’s solitude. The psychiatrist had wanted more from Will than a doctor-patient relationship and now, Will was free for the taking. 

Of course Hannibal was _worried_ about him now, likely wished to be the sole person to nurse Will back to health. To manipulate and cultivate him.

" Okay. Monday." 

Because Will had to catch the Ripper, so he could go back home to Frederick. To save them both.


	8. The Truth, And All Its Consequences

It had been nearly two weeks since Will drove from Baltimore. Twelve days of gray skies and rain, alcohol and the numbing white-noise of daytime television. 

Alana had stayed after convincing Will to return to Baltimore, drive to Hannibal’s office instead of the cozy apartment he so missed. She cooked him lunch, remained for an hour or so more to give attention to each of his dogs and make sure that he didn’t go straight to the bottle before noon.

Will tried not to think of how hard it would be to keep his appointment when something much more valuable was so close.

Even then, he knew that the spacious room with finely upholstered furniture would smell of leather, hints of fresh flowers and vanilla. Frederick’s home was small, cramped even, with a ratty couch and broken in mattress. It was a place that smelled constantly of spice and cooking oil, even when Frederick served just box macaroni and cheese. In that kitchen, within those walls, there were no faces to maintain, no expectations to meet.

With Hannibal, Will’s job was on the line.

On Sunday, Jack called to confirm. Will put great effort into keeping his voice steady, not slurring his words even as his head spun and the whiskey filled his stomach, alcohol filtering into his bloodstream. He would see Hannibal, and then return to Quantico Tuesday morning. He would find the Ripper, he would finally see through his eyes. Will would protect Frederick. Will would go home.

It had been twelve days since Will left his home. Now, he drove in the same direction, but it was the wrong destination. 

He watched the mile markers pass by, tree trunks blurring as the asphalt hummed against the tires. Will tried to focus himself, to keep his hands from shaking, the vehicle from swerving. He’d only had a double whiskey at lunch. It wasn’t enough to get him through the day, and certainly not through this appointment.

Guard rails gave way to an off ramp, the glaring red of stoplights and then manicured lawns trimmed with concrete sidewalks still damp from the morning’s showers. 

Will cut the engine and tossed back a few aspirin. Maybe he should have given the flask heavier consideration. 

The waiting room was quiet, dim lighting and paired armchairs that Will didn’t want to settle into. He leaned against the wall, feeling heavy, detached from his body. Truly, he didn’t want to be here. His stomach was churning, despite the lack of food in it. He felt regressed, like he’d never had the opportunity to meet Frederick, to be held together without fear of falling apart. 

His wristwatch read five after four. Hannibal was never late. 

Will took two quick strides towards the closed door, eager to get this over with and return to work. 

“ Will?” 

The polished wood was swinging towards him, too fast for his feet to react to.

“ Fucking Christ,” he swore as the edge of the door connected with his forehead. Pain bloomed when the flesh there split. Will backpedaled, away from Hannibal’s anguished expression and the doorway. He pressed his palm to the cut, feeling warmth and wetness, the exposed nerves making his head spin and vision swim with hurt. 

Will settled into the armchair he’d previously ignored. He increased the pressure to his forehead, trying to stave the flow of blood. Hannibal took a knee, long fingers closing around Will’s wrist in a cruel mimicry of his first date with Frederick. 

“ Hannibal, don’t--”

“ Nonsense, Will. You’ll need this bandaged up. Allow me.” 

Hannibal lead Will into his office and pressed tissues into his hands. The blood dried tacky in the cheap cotton, allowing it to stick to his forehead without much effort. Will watched as Hannibal poured him a finger of whisky and then retreated to a secondary room. He sipped idly at the drink, the alcohol a cool burn that he had missed since leaving Virginia. 

Will’s gaze wandered the spacious room, focusing momentarily on the gray skies framed by vibrant, soft curtains. He tapped his fingers along the glass of amber liquid in the same rhythm that the wind whipped at the barren wood outside. The desk just forward of the tall windows was untidy. Much like Hannibal’s lateness, this was an unusual occurrence. 

He stood slowly, careful of the dizziness that enveloped his brain and turned his limbs to jelly. The tissue was becoming saturated with blood from the superficial cut. Will paced around the room as was his habit, stopping before the windows. He leaned on the warm wood of the desk, the edge digging into the dimples just above his ass. 

Something behind him slipped, fell over. 

Will turned around, away from the clouds heavy with potential precipitation. He’d been staring at them for days, watching the condensation grow and darken, the rain fall and muddy the ground. He shifted to look inside, at the synthetically warm environment that Hannibal had created. A black moleskin journal, pencil and pen, a scalpel all placed haphazardly atop a half finished drawing. 

To the left was an iPad, its stand collapsed so the tablet laid flat against the desk. 

The screen had lit up with the movement. A familiar website was staring back at him. Will’s head was spinning, not from the alcohol or blood loss. 

His heart was pounding in his ears. He set the glass on the desk. Will took off his glasses, pressed his fingers into his eyelids. 

Frederick’s face, now blurry, stared back at him. Replacing his glasses brought the creases of his smile into focus. Will almost reached out to touch the photo of him, to caress the planar image of the man he’d left behind. 

Below Frederick’s picture was contact information, e-mail and phone number, the hours of his shift, and a short biography. There was no indication of his leave of absence from work here. 

The other tab’s description offered more. Will shifted over to it, skimmed the article underneath the bright crimson Tattle Crime logo. The Chesapeake Ripper, threatening the FBI’s teacher and special informant Will Graham’s confirmed lover. He hadn’t looked at this article, hadn’t dared to search for any that may have been written. There was no need to face the pain he had caused time and time again.

It wouldn’t be unreasonable for Hannibal to have read pieces written about the incident that had driven Will to isolation. But two weeks later? Any relevant information would have been forwarded by Jack or Alana. Will knew that Hannibal’s memory was more than photographic. He would have no need to revisit the story.

Will’s fingers grasped the edge of the desk. It felt like his lungs were being compressed, each inhalation more difficult than the previous one. 

A stream of sunlight refracted off of the scalpel. Will’s head was throbbing. He took a step back. 

Elegantly worded e-mails, knowledge of the human anatomy, the way that Hannibal’s knife fell in a controlled manner while preparing for an elaborate meal.

Will felt sweat beading on his brow. As it dripped down his face, he remembered the stinging wound on his forehead. He looked up to see Hannibal striding back into the room.

He pulled out his phone and speed dialed Jack below the lip of the desk. He muted the receiver, so only their voices would be heard. The lack of eye contact was nothing new.

The phone was slipped silently back into his pocket. Will hoped that Jack would pick up, that he would know where Will was, that somehow he would make it out of here alive and intact. Hannibal wouldn’t leave him whole when he had the truth.

“ Will, you should be sitting down.” 

His body moved in the opposite direction. Hannibal’s gaze flickered between the tablet and Will’s expression. The psychiatrist walked slowly towards a chair, opposite of the one Will had previously been placed into. His pace was careful, like he was approaching a wild animal. 

“ Please,” Hannibal gestured to the chair once more. 

Will shook his head slowly, walking around the chair towards the door. He wasn’t going to leave. That wasn’t an option. 

“ Why?” 

Hannibal was removing needle and thread from a small first aid kit on an end table. He avoided Will’s wounded look.

“ You’ve been hiding under our noses the entire time.” Will retraced his steps back to the desk where he downed the rest of his whisky. Hannibal’s legs were crossed, his hands placed politely atop them. Will wanted to tear him apart.

The Ripper harvested organs, laid viscera strewn across the tableau in mockery of art. Hannibal cooked extravagant meals, hosted ridiculous dinner parties, and spoke at length about mortality. Will felt nausea pooling in his stomach, the pain in his head a small distraction now. 

Silence stretched between them. Hannibal stood, replaced the medical supplies in their rightful place. They rotated around the office as Hannibal moved towards the desk and Will retreated to the private exit. His pulse was roaring in his ears, jumping in his throat. Hannibal turned off the display on his tablet after glancing down at it a final time. His eyes were shining with delight. 

It was too much for Will. He was falling apart in front of Hannibal, unable to cope with his own perceived failure and the consequences that it had brought. Frederick’s anguish and terror, his own slide back into alcoholism and night terrors.

Will brought himself to meet Hannibal’s eyes. His voice shook when he spoke.“ Why Frederick?”

“ He was holding you back.” Hannibal was fingering the pens into place, straightening his planner. “ You have great potential, Will. I can help you cultivate your gifts.” 

“ Frederick was the _only_ person helping me when _your_ murders were tearing my mind apart.”

Hannibal began to walk towards Will. There was nowhere else for him to go. He had to face this, alone. Will promised Frederick he would catch the Ripper, to save both of them.

“ So you could grow from them, see what was possible. If he was not in the picture, you would have turned to me sooner.” 

Hannibal was a few feet away, his pace slowing. Will took a step backwards. 

“ You were jealous.”

“ I was disappointed.” Hannibal was in arm’s reach. He placed a hand on Will’s shoulder with a sigh. “ You were my friend, Will.”

“ No, I wasn’t.” 

There was another brief moment of silence. Will could see pain on Hannibal’s face, creasing his brow further, darkening his eyes. He felt the soft exhale of breath from the doctor’s mouth hit his face, and then something cold was in his abdomen, tearing through his being.

Will grunted first, looked down between them to see the edge of the scalpel as Hannibal dragged it transversely across his gut. He wheezed, gripping the man before him to keep upright even as great volumes of blood gushed from the gaping wound left behind. His shirt adhered to the jagged edges of skin. 

Hannibal dropped the blade and pushed it away with his foot. He eased Will to the ground, gently cradling the back of his head. 

“ Frederick Chilton could never have saved you, Will. You were not his to save.” 

Will tried to jerk his head away when Hannibal cradled his jaw, pressed a soft kiss upon his lips, and then his cheek. He was shaking, shivering as more blood pulsed out of his peritoneal cavity, flooding the rug and seeping through the floorboards. Hannibal removed the tissues from his forehead and straightened up. 

“ ‘M not yours, either,” he gritted out, trying to watch as Hannibal exited the room. Will could hear the door closing.

His hands were desperately clutching at his small intestines, the section of colon that tried to fall free from his body. Hfe wanted to reach into his pocket, to pick up the phone and beg for Jack to go to Frederick, but his fingers were slippery slick with blood and bodily fluid, his eyes blurry from tears and his vision tunnelling. 

Would Hannibal still attempt to kill Frederick? Was Frederick still being protected by guards?

Will gathered his guts into one palm while the other grappled for his phone. His fingers were closing around it in the pool of blood that had filled his pocket. He managed to reach to his chest, close enough to see that the call timer was still ticking, that the screen was not dimmed under the masking of blood. 

When he tried to speak, Will found that he didn’t recognize the rattling breath that came out. It sounded far away. His body felt on fire, and simultaneously cold. He remembered Frederick describing the same sensation when they had spent too much time out in the snow. 

The memory came to the forefront of his mind easily. It soothed him, eased the panic that made his heart beat faster and the blood spill quicker.

Frederick was smiling, his nose reddened and mittened hands full of snow. Will was tackling him to the ground. They were rolling, wrestling in it, embracing one another as the cold caged them in.

Will’s eyes closed. He let the darkness wash over him.


	9. Epilogue: You're Coming Back To Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU to everyone who waited around forever for my dumb muse to come back and spring break allowing me to have enough time to pound this out.
> 
> I'd love to have any input!!

Frederick sat in the corner armchair that was somehow less uncomfortable the more time that he spent in it. The sun was out today, and he made sure to open the yellowing blinds in the hospital window. Large swathes of light washed over Will’s face, the blankets that covered his legs and healing torso. 

“ You’ll have to wake up at some point, you know.” 

He had pulled out a new novel, the latest one that his mother sent. When Beverly had been in the day before, she had commented on it. This one was actually supposed to be good.

Hannibal Lecter was in custody somewhere. Frederick had not been touched that night. They had ambushed the psychiatrist at Frederick’s apartment while the radio host paced in the waiting room of a large, unfamiliar medical complex. 

Will had been placed in a medically induced coma. The encephalitis was severe enough to warrant fear of brain damage. That’s what the doctors had told Frederick. That Will was lucky the scalpel made a clean cut, avoiding the visceral peritoneum and appendix. Mesenteric arteries were easy enough to ligate, but ruptured intestines were a separate problem. Frederick didn’t know what that meant. He didn’t know what to say, but to trust the treatment of the inflammation in Will’s brain and that he would wake up, when the pentobarbital was removed from his system.

It had been almost three days since the anesthesiologist had weaned the barbiturates from Will’s blood flow. The electrodes of the EEG had been removed from Will’s head, and he looked less pale. A day ago, nurses had carefully removed Will from the ventilator and pulled out his intubation tube when shown he could breathe on his own.

Frederick hoped that the sunlight would stir something in him. There were flowers in the room now. Alana was working on getting permission to bring Winston into the hospital for a visit. She was feeding the dogs, as Frederick rarely left the medical campus.

Frederick smoothed his black hoodie over Will’s lap, laced the other man’s long, chilled fingers in his own as he slowly worked through the book.

He had faith that Will would wake up. He had to, because there was no other options he could bare to think about. 

When Will left, Frederick stayed inside. There wasn’t much guarding for his security to do, as he rarely made it out of his bedroom. He cursed himself, he cursed the Ripper, and he cursed Will. Why couldn’t he have fallen for someone normal?

Eventually, Beverly had tracked him down. He was forced to deal with Will leaving him, because Will loved him. That’s why he had left. 

And now, Will had gotten himself stabbed, because he loved Frederick.

At least, that’s how Jack Crawford had explained it to Frederick, after arresting Hannibal and joining him in the spacious surgical waiting area with cheap coffee.

What else was Frederick supposed to do, but to trust that Will would wake up for him? Will had to, or it would all be for naught.

Frederick squeezed the fingers he held so delicately, let them go to rub the blanket over Will’s left thigh. “ You know, I was thinking about getting doughnuts. Yesterday morning. I think it was that coffee that Alana brought in, it must have been from the same place you brought me on Valentine’s Day.”

He looked over at Will, ignored the drainage tube from his wound and the catheter winding down the mattress, to focus on the stubble that had grown on his jawline in the past few weeks. Will’s face was no longer as sallow, but had begun to resemble the man that Frederick loved.

“ I think you woke up some doughnut-loving beast in me. Even tried sour cream glazed. More for you, when you wake up, dear.” 

Frederick returned his hand to Will’s and flipped to the next page of the book. He nearly fell out of his seat when the hand closed around his own without prompting.

Quickly, Frederick turned to face Will. His eyes were blurry, lids slowly blinking. He was licking his lips. Frederick jumped up, tugging the cord for the nurse button on his way to get water and a straw. He returned to Will’s side as three hospital employees entered the room.

Frederick couldn’t stop smiling. Will was weak, tired. He consistently looked back at Frederick after answering questions, seeming confused but pleased. The nurse stayed longest. She took down numbers and asked more questions before informing Frederick that the doctor would be in shortly.

“ I love you, Will Graham.” Frederick placed his hand over the other man’s chest. He could feel tears welling up in his eyes.

Will finished drinking his water. When he spoke, his voice was still gravely. “ We’re both alive? And Hannibal?” 

“ Yes. You saved me, Will. Hannibal was arrested at my apartment building, because you called Jack.”

Will closed his eyes and smiled. “ I love you, too.”

Frederick took his hand, felt the warm callouses rub against his palm and the gentle pressure on his heartlines. 

“ I hope you weren’t lying about doughnuts, though. As soon as I’m allowed, that’s my first meal.” 

The steady beat of Will’s heart monitor sounded behind their shared laughter. Frederick couldn’t stop the tears that spilled over to his cheeks. He had been strong. He had trusted Will to come back to him. They were safe.

**Author's Note:**

> between chapter updates and me crying over how much this au has ruined my life can be found on [my tumblr](lemonscientist.tumblr.com)


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